The Fist of Remnant
by BrightestDarkness
Summary: In the ruined crater that once held the Forever Fall, forces beyond Remnant's comprehension are stirring. Well, maybe more strolling around looking for Udon and the way home than stirring but that's beside the point; a bald justice has emerged into Remnant with his sidekick, seeking justice and defending the weak. After they fix the moon first that is.
1. Beacon's Strongest Toilet

**Author's Note: I own nothing. Well, I own some things like socks, a drunken dog, and cheap laborers but nothing in these stories but that's not important right now. Things aren't going to punch themselves!**

"So uh… any idea what could do that?"

"Maybe Atlas was testing a new weapon?"

"Near campus?"

"Maybe they missed?"

Detective Vorpal frowned. "Atlas never misses. You know that."

"Then what in Remnant make the Forever Fall less tree and more crater?" Detective Welder asked. "It makes no sense to me. No one ever recorded has a semblance this powerful, and even if they did, someone would have seen them."

Detective Vorpal scratched his chin and thought to himself as he surveyed the carnage left before him. "What if this isn't from Remnant?" he said, starring up at the the sky where it seemed as the clouds had a hole punched through them. "What if it came from somewhere else."

"You been watching too much many Vacuo science fiction Vorpal," Welder dismissed his partner. "Aliens aren't real."

Vorpal scowled at the giant opening in the sky, and the shattered remains of where the Forever Fall once used to be. Before either of them could continue theorizing about what, or even who could have done the damage, coughing was heard deep within the dust and smoke that covered the impact's origin point.

Vorpal and Welder drew their pistols as coughing was replaced by slow, dragging footsteps that kicked rock and scrapped against scattered leaves. A looming shadow began to take shape, blocked the rays of the sun from reaching Welder and Vorpal. Soon, the shadow began to emerge from the smoke as it encroached upon the two detectives.

Even shrouded in ash, the figure was obviously massive, with each arm the size of Welder's torso, and taller than five Ursa stacked on top of each other. As the limbs came out of the air the hid it so well, Vorpal could see the large metallic claws that emanated heat even from where he was standing. Then came its disgust head, attached to the longest neck that he had ever seen, with six mandibles and rows and rows of teeth within that had grey goo dripping out the side. Finally, they saw it torso. What was left of it at least.

Where the chest used to be, now was a large gaping hole that was blown clean through. The massive monstrosity gurgled its last gasps as it collapsed before both detectives, causing them to leap back. Cough out more grey goop, it began whimpering to itself on the ground, slowly fading away from the world around it.

Approaching the beast carefully, Vorpal leaned down to hear what the creature was saying. Welder stood behind him with his gun shaking in his hands and sweat coming down his brow.

"What?" started Welder quivering, "what is it saying?"

Vorpal's face was completely expressionless. He blinked to himself and slowly turned to his partner again.

"It said: 'one punch'." Vorpal gave another glance to the creature, now still and bereft of life. "One punch."

"Hey Vorpal," Welder asked.

"Yeah."

"You think that things an alien? You think it all this to the Forever Fall?"

Vorpal shook his head. "Something else killed it. That's pretty clear."

"But…what…who?"

"Oh hey, there he is," came a voice from right beside them.

Both detectives jumped back, drawing their guns at the man before them. He stood there, unremarkable as he ever was with his gleaming bald head, yellow spandex, red gloves, boots, and cape doing no favors to his stature. They starred at the utterly normal man before them as he looked at the corpse of the monster disapprovingly.

"I thought the Mars Beast was going to put up more of a fight," he sighed. "Oh well. Might as well get back home before the special sale ends."

"Wait, you can't go anywhere!" Vorpal ordered as he struggled to process what the man just said. "Are…are you the one who did this to that…thing?"

The Bald one nodded.

"You a hunter of some sort?" Welder questioned.

"What's a hunter?" the Caped Baldy inquired.

Vorpal frowned at him. "Please don't jest right now. We are trying to figure out what just happened."

Caped Baldy continued to stare at him blankly and repeated his question. "What's a hunter."

Vorpal and Welder exchanged worried glances. "Are you serious?" Welder asked. "I mean; he must be joking right?"

The Baldy frowned at them. "The special sale is ending today. So if you could just report this to the Hero Association, I would appreciate it."

"Wait!" Vorpal said, halting the turning baldy. "If you aren't a hunter, then…what are you."

"Oh. I'm Saitama," said Baldy without any hint of pride. "B-class hero for hobby."

 **The F-**

Out of nowhere a metallic figure slammed into the ground right next to them. His chrome limbs and metallic eyes were colored with orange lines of energy that were visibly spread across his entire body, save for the ripped shirt, jeans, and boots that covered his augmentations.

"Master, I have scouted the area," the cyborg said without giving the two detectives a single glance, "it seems that we are no longer in Z-City. I think when you punched the portal that the Martians were coming from, it triggered an explosive chain reaction: we are now on an entirely different world."

Saitama gasped as he collapsed to his knees, unable to take the blow of the news. Terror flooded his veins as he pressed his gloved fist gently into the earth, causing a 4.5 magnitude earthquake in Vacuo.

"Genos…are you telling me that we are no longer in City-Z?"

"…yes."

"I'm going to miss the special sale!"

General James Ironwood was not having a good day. It began when he woke up being flung into his ceiling from a shockwave that destroyed the Forever Fall. Then, not two minutes afterward, he gets a call from the first responders babbling something about an alien invasion, but also a bald man, a cyborg, and something about a special sale.

When he finally opened his scroll and selected the news function, he got his first glance at the problems he would face later that day. With multiple media outlets in Vale theorizing that blaming the destruction of the Forever Fall on some Atlas military exercise gone wrong, Ironwood found himself sending out multiple calls to public relations to have them ward off the negative press until he could put together what was going on.

All that was six hours ago. Now he was starring at his problems and they were starring right back.

"Can we leave now?" Saitama asked. "I would really like to go find a toilet right now. Its urgent."

"No," Ironwood answered for the fifth time in five minutes. "You cannot be allowed to leave until I have properly understood your roles in all this."

Saitama leaned back on the chair to stretch out his back as Genos continued to glare at Ironwood without any change in his serious expression. "We were fighting Martians that were invading City-Z through a portal. I punched them. The portal was going to send more Martians so I punched it. And then I was here."

Ironwood immediately called bullshit on this. "You think this is a joke? The Forever Fall is completely obliterated, we find some kind of…massive beast dead along you two near the site, and the best you can give me is an insane story on punching things?"

It was at this point Genos decided to interject, placing some much needed communication in the conversation. "General Ironwood, we mean no disrespect, but despite how ridiculous this seems to you my master is indeed telling the truth."

Ironwoods eyes narowed. He hadn't told them his name. "How did you—"

"I scanned your 'scroll' device, and obtained basic knowledge from the device," Genos said simply. "You are General James Ironwood of the Atlas military. You are in Vale, at Beacon to participate in Vytal Festival Tournament. Unofficially, you are here to deal with a threat that might require an entire Atlas fleet. Am I correct?"

Ironwood shook off his surprise and reevaluated the situation. They must have had prior knowledge; his scroll was triple encrypted. Even the best hackers in Mistral couldn't pierce the foundations that secured his information. He didn't know what kind of game that these two before him were playing, but he was rapidly getting fed up with it.

"Alright. No more lies. No more games. Who are you two and wh—wait! Sit down where are you…" Ironwood couldn't quite finish his sentence as Saitama walked through the five-inch-thick, dust-enforced metal alloy wall with absurd ease. Ironwood's ability to speak, much like the structure of the wall, bent and peeled away at what he had just seen.

"I need to go pee," Saitama declared without look back. "Where is the nearest toilet?"

Genos stood up without acknowledging Ironwood further to assist his master in the urinary endeavor that was now their priority. Saitama proceeded to walk through every single wall in sight, reinforced or not. Guards rushed into the room mere moments after they heard the outer walls tearing, but they were too late, the two were long gone. Instead, they found their General motionless with a baffled look in his eyes.

After a few more moments spent contemplating the impossibility that just transpired, Ironwood decided that decisive action needed to be taken. "Ozpin," Ironwood said holding his scroll. "We might have a problem."

…

"Go team RWBY!" cheered Ruby, jubilant after her teams win over FNKI. RWBY's victory was expressed by their leader with every other word that came out of her mouth, since their departure from the stadium, all the way right outside the gates. Most would understand her youthful enthusiasm.

Weiss didn't. Weiss only knew if that she heard one more "yay" or "we rock" or even "Weiss rules" she was going to seal Ruby's mouth shut with her glyphs.

"Yes, yes I know we won. Everyone at school does too. The students, the trees, the janitors, even the statues are well aware of our wondrous exploits." Weiss grumbled. "Now can we please get hurry back to the dorm. I need to get changed out this…mess I'm wearing right now."

"Aw come on Weiss," Yang teased. "What's wrong with a bit of cheer after a win? Besides, you look great in charcoal black, it really brings out your anger when you clench your teeth."

"Oh ha ha. Don't forget that its because of me that you didn't get blindsided."

Yang barked out a laugh and threw her arm around the frowning heiress, Blake, and her sister, drawing them in close for a team hug. It would have been a really nice moment if the bald guy didn't burst through their dorm wall.

The wall of the dorm exploded outwards as Saitama strolled through the material like it was paper. Shaking in his boots, Saitama fought the growing need to pee, but knew that it was losing battle. He would need to find a toilet strong enough to withstand him before all was lost.

"Master, my scans show that the toilet within this dorm would have been insufficient." Genos said. "Your stream would have pierced through the porcelain like it was never there, and would have continued onwards through whatever would be in its way. There would have been casualties, and the right side of the build would likely be split in twain."

"Yes Genos I get it," Saitama responded annoyed at his misfortune. "Just keep looking. We have to find one." He turned to look at team RWBY still stuck between hugging each other and starring at him.

"Did that bald guy just walk through our dorm's wall?" Weiss asked.

Blake's frowned. "So it would seem."

Noticing the members of RWBY before Genos decided to cease his scans and instead acquire a guide for his master's plight. "Greetings, I am S-Class hero Genos. This is my master Saitama. We must to find a toilet strong enough for master, otherwise I fear your entire school's foundation is at stake. I would appreciate it if any of you could point us to a toilet that could withstand ocean floor pressures."

Yang starred on at the twosome "…What?"

"Maybe that's too much to ask for. Perhaps, something that can survive a missile at least."

By this point Saitama had grown desperate enough to wander through another dorm, peeling past the walls of JNPR to come face to shocked faces with little care left in his body. Genos quickly followed him inside to deliver the same plea to team JNPR before Saitama walked through another wall.

Jaune Arc slowly stumbled out of the hole left in his wall and look at an almost identical one in RWBY's dorm. "So…I think we might be having one of those weird days," he said. Ruby nodded as screams of startled students echoed down the hallway.

"YOU'RE A ROBOT?" Nora bellowed from inside the dorm. "HEY GUYS. WE NEED TO HELP THESE TWO!" Ren's sighs quickly followed.

"Nora…"

"But Ren, I always wanted to help a robot accomplish their dreams! AND THEN WE COULD BECOME FRIENDS AND WE COULD HAVE ALL SORTS OF ROBOTY ADVENTURES! AND NOW I CAN!"

"I'm actually more of a cyborg…" Genos explained.

"CLOSE ENOUGH!"

Wasting not one moment further, Nora bounded off after the increasingly agitated Saitama in hopes of gaining a new robot buddy. Genos continued his emotionlessness as he strode down after Nora and his master to accomplish a mighty goal.

"We should follow them," Jaune said. "We should follow them and make sure that we tell Headmaster Goodwitch that we did everything we could to save Beacon from them when we inevitably fail."

Pyrrha nodded hopelessly. "I'll go grab my shield."

…

"…we will be making a slight alteration to the plan," Cinder spoke with a slight smile.

"What does that mean?" asked Mercury.

The very existence of P.E.N.N.Y has shifted the playing field in further in Cinder's favor. Soon, she would be able to turn every bit of power that Ironwood possessed, every advantage that the kingdoms had, and use it against them. Victory was ever closer.

And no one going to stop her from taking it.

"It means that this will be even easier than we thoug-"

Her wall exploded inwards.

Baldness was the first thing that came into her eyes as her wall gave way to a terribly dressed man. Saitama stood before the room's occupants with a pained face and clenched thighs. A few moments of awkward silence coupled with unblinking stares were exchanged between Hero and plotters.

"How strong is your toilet?" Saitama finally blurted out breaking the quiet.

Cinder thought she misheard the question. "I—excuse me?"

"Your toilet," Saitama repeated. "Can it survive a bomb?"

Cinder Fall didn't quite know how to respond to that. She had three options at that moment: one was to attempt to answer that stupid question that just came out of his mouth, the second was to kill him on the spot in case he heard or saw anything, and the third would be ending her operation prematurely and running.

With a few tense beats of her heart, Cinder steeled herself and made a choice. Option one could easily shift into option two should things be revealed as problematic.

"No," Cinder said to the disappointment of Saitama. "No our toilet can't survive a bomb."

"Well," Saitama said despondently clenching his legs even harder now. "Thanks for helping. Know anywhere that has a toilet like that?"

"….No."

"Oh well."

Saitama turned to leave through the hole he made, with each step showing the depths of his desperation growing, and with each increasing the strain on Cinder's nerves.

"Wait!" Cinder called out stoping Saitama in his steps. "You didn't hear anything did you? About what I was saying."

He shook his head and walked off.

"What in Oum's name was that!" asked Emerald as Cinder began furiously deleting material on her scroll.

…

For most people getting reports from your friend that a certain caped bald man and what seemed to be his cybernetic companion were found in the remains of the Forever Fall, and recently walked through dust reinforced steel of Atlas's detention room would sound like a joke.

When your friend is a general with a perpetual stick stuck up his ass though, things are usually seen in a different light.

"James," Ozpin spoke calmly. "I need you to slow down. What do they look like? What do they want?"

" _They look like a caped bald guy and a man with robot parts Ozpin! Nothing should have been able to walk through our walls like that! But he did!"_

"James, relax. What did he want?"

" _…To pee."_

Ozpin raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me."

" _He left to find a toilet. We managed to track his movements across the campus. He's rampaging through the dorms, causing damage everywhere. Students are saying that he's wandering the campus seeking a toilet 'strong enough to still be peeable after a railgun'."_

It took Ozpin a few moments to process Ironwood's words, words that just didn't quite make sense. Shaking off the stupidity of the situation, Ozpin got back on the task on hand.

"Where is he now?"

A large crash answered Ozpin as the building around him shook violently. Glynda burst in through the door scroll in hand and frown on face. "Headmaster, I'm getting multiple complaints from students about a bald man destroying their dorms and asking if their toilets can survive a bludgeoning from a power gauntlet. Is there some sort prank going that I have not been informed of?"

The Headmaster's lips did some bending acrobatics in opposite directions as he contemplated how to articulate the truthfulness of the situation to Glynda. "Well, Glynda…these claims, as also described to me by Ironwood…might be true."

Glynda's frown went from threat level "grumpy" to "someone must die". "You mean to tell me…that a bald man has actually broken into our campus…and is currently running through our building infrastructure to find a toilet?"

Ozpin nodded and took a drink of coffee to sustain his tranquility.

Years of twitching made Glynda's upper face muscles, especially around her left eye, absolutely tight and swollen. Whenever Ozpin caught a glimpse of the 'six pack' on the side of her head tightening, he usually understood it was time to set in and defuse the situation.

However, in this case, the calm thing to do was as murky and uncertain as Saitama was bald. "He also has a cyborg following him," Ozpin added to Glynda's confusion.

"A cyborg? What? Why?"

Ozpin shrugged and tapped the emergency protocols on his scroll. Whatever was going on, they were going to need to deal with it.

…

When Ruby found her uncle looking at the man shaped hole in the cafeteria walls, he looked three magnitudes drunker than his usually inebriated state. "Oh, hi kids," he slurred happily. "What's up."

"We trying to find this bald guy that's destroying the campus," Ruby said. "You see anyone like that."

Crow's face went dead and looked down at his flask and then back at his niece starring at him expectantly along with her team.

"He was definitely here! We are wasting time asking your druncle!" Weiss hissed under her breath while pointing furiously at the Saitama sized hole in the wall.

"So you could actually see the baldest guy walking around here too huh?" Crow said scratching the back of his head. "Well, he might have walked through that wall over there. Might have asked me about a toilet too. Can't quite remember."

"You didn't try to stop him?" Blake inquired to Crow's growing displeasure.

"Kids, to be entirely honest, I thought I was having drunken visions," he said as he took another gulp from his flask. "I had a bit more than I usually did, and when you suddenly see a bald man walk through a wall like nothing followed by a machine and a chatterbox, you understand that you're drunker than normal and deal with it accordingly."

Weiss threw up her hands in frustration and stomped off after the trail of destruction grumbling about how silly this all was and how she hasn't even managed to get changed yet. Ruby gave her uncle a quick goodbye as the rest of the team went after her, leaving one very confused Crow in their wake.

"Crow we nee—oh, well I see you're already informed about the situation," Glynda said with a blank faced Ozpin and shocked Ironwood by her side. "I assume you know what is about happen."

Crow thought to himself for a moment. "Your going to enlist me in baldy hunting?"

Her nod told him everything he didn't want to hear.

…

"Bladder strength at four percent," Genos announced with a tone of severity. "Master, even with your might, it seems that five minutes is all you might have left."

Saitama ignored him in his prancing. Saitama knew that as a hero, he would have to make some hard choices sometimes, but those typically came to down to mortal sacrifices and fighting impossible threats. What kind of hero was faced with an immovable threat in their own bladder! It was times like these that Saitama remember why his training began to cause so much damage to the world around him.

He also remembered where he usually went to do his business back at home: his rooftop.

The sky is a gift to the world, and at times only Saitama could fully appreciate the open air for what it was. The freedom that it allowed for his leaps, the space for cities to grow, the stars for eyes to witness in all their majesty.

Also, nothing in the way for Saitama to accidentally mutilate with his yellow liquid liberation beyond a few birds.

"Genos, stand back," spoke Saitama with a shadow over his eyes. "I know what I must do."

Genos's tightened his mechanical fists as he realized what was about to happen and nodded to his master.

"So what are we doing?" Nora bound up behind them, unaware of the sheer mayhem that was about to occur. "What's going on?"

A metallic palm halted her as Genos began moving back away from Saitama as a terrible ominous unzipping was heard. "Master knows what he must do. The option is sound, but for the sake of safety, we should stand back."

"Ohhh! Is he going to release his semblance? Is that what he's doing?"

It was at this very moment that the rest of the school managed to finally catch up to the bald one that has been causing so much havoc. Professors, students, and annoyed squirrels on campus all gathered to bear witness to the first great act that Saitama would deliver in Remnant.

Glynda held out her riding crop but wasn't sure with how to proceed with the defensive position the cyborg was taking, and how close Nora was to him. Not three meters away was Saitama hips aimed at the sky, unmoving…unspeaking.

"What's going on?" Ruby asked after a few moments of tense silence. "Is he doing anything—"

A blast of sheer force washed over every person present and even further into Vale. Students and teachers alike were knocked back a few steps as the small shockwave pushed against them. Barely able to open her eyes, Ruby looked up into the sky as what seemed to be a beam of pure brightness, in the shades of the sun, punched through the clouds. The air above them separated for the second time that day, clouds shifted away from each other and opened a path to the pure black of the beyond: outer space was pierced.

Such miraculous moment went from wonder to pure horror as the beam shot towards Remnant's shattered moon. Multiple cries of terror found form in sound and voice as student saw the fate about to transpire upon their moon.

When it hit, there wasn't much of a reaction at first, just a small spot on the moon seemingly getting pricked by a needle. Then, the prick grew, eating away more and more of the moon was eaten up by the blast. Up to another quarter of what remained of the already shattered moon was engulfed in the mightiest golden shower the galaxy has ever seen.

More fragments cracked away from the moon, already split to the very core by the second great impact of its existence, joining the bits that were there before. However, a few stray pieces shot off from the point of origin, towards a land of stronger gravity: Remnant.

Awe and disbelief were almost audible in the silence that drowned all of Beacon.

A single individual walked up next to Ozpin as the pieces of the moon came down ever closer towards the surface of Remnant. "If that's his semblance," Crow said as Saitama frowned at the damage he just caused, "then I'm going to need another drink."

 **The Fist of Remnant:**

 **CH 1. Beacon's Strongest Toilet!**


	2. Attack on Moon Pee

**Author's Notice: Ownership, like decency, is a foreign concept to my person; this is merely a figment of existence fantasies warped into a twisted realm where pee can destroy moons.**

In the Travelers Guide to Remnant, there is a chapter, written as a joke regarding what to do if you encounter extraterrestrial life. Many things were listed down as do and don't for dealing with both belligerent and peaceful creatures from the emptiness above. There however was never a chapter dictating what must be done in the case that one of these strange creatures relieves himself on your moon, thus breaking it apart into many more bits.

This was a chapter that the authorities of Remnant sorely needed right now.

"So you all saw the bald guy break our moon into more fragments," Qrow said while contemplating whether he should quit drinking, "This isn't just an alcoholic fever dream of mine is it?"

Glynda let out an audible exhale as she turned to Ozpin. The situation was absurd. Apprehending a man who broke the moon with his liquid waste—that being his semblance or not-was likely going to be an endeavor that would result in terrible causalities. Still, she had sworn to defend the world from all forms of darkness, Grimm, Human, Faunus, or otherwise. "Headmaster…how should we deal with this?"

"Stinger Squadron weapons ready," Ironwood ordered, voice steeled but uncertain. Lowering his scroll to get a better look at the now suddenly unassuming bald man and his cyborg compatriot, Ironwood's eyes narrowed. "If he does anything threatening. Fire."

"You think a couple of ships are going to have any effect on that monster? After what he just did," Qrow asked. Ironwood didn't bother to give him the satisfaction of a response.

"It will likely have more of an effect than using drunkenness to hide away from the situation."

"Hey, drunkenness should make my suffering lesser than yours if he decides to turn and take a whizz at us."

"And its that kind of thinking that separates the broken from those that serve."

"We should not be so hasty," Ozpin said, derailing the inevitable argument. "So far, it seems that his rampage has been confined to problems of meager and personal aspects," a statement that bothered Qrow to no end as he noticed a few chunks of the moon slowly growing larger in size, "and has yet to actively harm one of our students. Professor Goodwitch, please coordinate the students a safe distance away. I am going to talk to them."

"Headmaster you can't be serious," Glynda protested, to no avail.

"It looks like he is," Qrow said.

As Ironwood demanded his ships stand down to give his friend a few moments to talk what could be the greatest threat to Remnant, Glynda directed the students further back, away from the open courtyard that they were gathered in, away from any potential havoc that was to occur.

There was a stillness, if only for an instant, as Ozpin made his way over to where Saitama was standing. Nora was still standing next to Genos, even more excited than when she first saw him as she chattered on about the "gross awesomeness".

"…And that's only him going to number two! What if he needs to go do the big duty! To feed the sewer Ursas! Is that going to destroy the core of Remnant?"

If Genos could blink, that statement would have caused him to. "Unlikely to be as damaging. Due to master's phenomenal physical power, any action that has him commit any muscle to action will result in almost impossible levels of force if unable to be controlled. Urination is far different than defecation in the way the mus—"

"Hey," Saitama interjected as he kept an eye on the falling moon fragments. "Can we move away from the subject of my toilet habits. Its embarrassing. And annoying."

"Indeed."

Saitama broke his focus away from the descending moon bits to give Ozpin his attention. The Headmaster gave a slight smile, while betraying nothing in terms of emotion or thought, as he began to address the walking destroyer of moons. "It seems that we have not been properly introduced. I am Headmaster Ozpin of Beacon Academy. I understand that you have already met my friend and fellow Headmaster, General Ironwood earlier, and left in the middle of his interrogation."

Gloved hands scratched a bald head as Saitama struggled to recall the face with the name "Ironwood". He certainly remembered being in a small metal room being questioned about things but was more occupied with finding a restroom than keeping track of anything around him. "Saitama, B-Class hero for hobby. Didn't mean to run through all your walls, but if I didn't hurry, I might have done that," Saitama said pointing to the moon, "to the building."

Ozpin nodded in agreement, if only to carry the dialogue forward. "Miss Valkyrie, please join the rest of your team in moving back to the Academy."

"Aw, but Headmaster, I just this really awesome friend," Nora chatted away in delight pointing to the stone-faced Genos. "He's a robot and I showed him around campus so that his bald master (Saitama shot Nora a dirty look) could find somewhere to squeeze his lemon and—"

"You can tell me all that in the report you will write to me later Miss Valkyrie," Ozpin said effectively ending the tirade that Nora was on. "Consider it extra credit work."

Leaping up in joy at the sound of the words "extra credit" Nora quickly said around six different variations of goodbye to Genos before dashing off to rejoin the rest of her team, to their extreme relief.

"Your need to relieve yourself seems to have caused a bit of trouble for all of us today," Ozpin said, sliding his hands lower on his cane for a better grip in case things went wrong. Genos noticed and quietly turned his incinerator blasters on as quietly as he could.

Saitama rubbed the back of his head as a small bit of shame came upon him. "Yeah. Really needed to go. Sorry about your moon, but I think it came pre-broken."

"It seems that damage dealt to it prior resembles asteroid impac-," Genos said looking at the fragments of the moon still locked into limbo by the oddly powerful gravity in the area. Then he saw them.

"Master...it appears that you might have had a bit more impact than I assumed."

 **CH.2: Attack on Moon Pee!**

The Headmaster's knuckles whitened as he clenched his coffee mug as a channel for his confirmed misery. "So…ahem…Mr. Saitama, unless I am currently experiencing spontaneous hallucinations, I do believe that the moon pieces are growing larger and larger."

"Oh. Well I suppose that resulted in more damage than I wanted to cause," Saitama admitted as the light reflecting his baldness was blocked out of the falling fragments from the moon.

Cries of horror and dismay could be heard coming from the contingent of students and others who gathered in that field to witness the event that later generations would begin to call "The Great Pee-en-ing". Atlas Fleet ships flew from one side as a premature game of predictive asteroid pong began, while Ironwood mashed his scroll furiously to call for more ships to be made available.

Off the side where the beginnings of a stampede were coming into existence, Glydna remained disenchanted with the notion of planetary extinction and decided to veto being sacred in turn for raw discipline. With the crack of her riding crop, all heads turned to her in surprise, their spell panic broken.

"Students," Glynda said coolly. "Please, follow Professor Port and Ooblek back to the gates of the Academy in an orderly fashion. The sky may be falling but you are all Hunters. Act like it."

No one quite dared to panic after that.

Tumbling over to the side of Ozpin with a foul stench of drunken misery with a tinge of bitterness, Qrow found his way towards the perpetrator of the mess alongside Ironwood, who recently gave up his temporary finger cardio to discuss options of prevention, or failing that, survival.

Shooting the dirtiest look that he could muster that the bald man, who was now picking his nose while looking up at the havoc he wrought, Ironwood sighed. "Oz…Atlas will do all it can but, its not looking good. Maybe if we bring all our firepower to beat in a concentrated effort we might be able to chip away enough to minimize damage."

"Heh," Qrow spat. "Leave it to Jimmy to come up with the genius idea of just shooting at the sky that's falling."

"I don't see you coming up with anything useful Qrow," Ironwood shot back. "At least I attempting to come up with a solution." To this statement, Qrow simply gave the disgusted General an insulting smile and took a swig from his flask.

The whiteness from Ozpin's knuckles now spread across his entire hand.

Cybernetic eyes tracked the pieces as a mind faster than any organics began doing math and physics at the speed near instantaneous. The result was most displeasing. "Master, the fragments will land approximately at the same time in multiple regions of this world. Even if you were to get to one, another would still likely land. And even with my help it seems that many will get through and cause massive damage. I'm still trying to de—"

"Altas could cover for Vale with the ship here, but even then the collective firepower of the fleet can't stop all of that," Ironwood admitted.

It was at that moment that Ozpin began to realize the solution standing before him all along. "What if they were all destroyed at once?" proposed Ozpin, watching Saitama finally succeeding in digging out the booger deep in his nose.

"And how are we supposed to do that?" Qrow grumbled. "It's a bit hard destroy that many large mountain-sized objects and destroying that all at once, it would require masterful precision or a ridiculous amount of force to…to." At this point, Qrow noticed, but more tellingly, heard the clenching of Saitama's fist. It was the sound of the atoms themselves being trapped into a realm where punches were having affairs with explosions while finalizing their divorce papers from physics.

Power was in those hands.

"I guess we got the force part covered," Qrow said.

A red gloved hand reached out and grasped at the falling sky, before picking up a nearby rock and throwing it lightly. All the way into a fragment that was falling. Then he nodded to himself and did a controlled hop so that he wouldn't leave the atmosphere too fast.

Looking around as dirt began to rain down around them and two footprints were left as indelible marks on the marble floor of Beacon's courtyard, Ozpin took another sip of coffee and told himself that he missed Saitama when he blinked; no one was that fast. It was a lie of course, but Ozpin really needed one.

"Hey robot guy?" Qrow asked. "What's the bald guy supposed to do once he gets up there?"

Genos gave Qrow a blank look like he was just asked the simplest question in the world. "Punch it."

"What's that supposed to do!" Ironwood cried. "This is absurd."

Genos turned back to look at the bald warhead that was his master. "Everything," Genos admitted with no doubt. "The punch will solve everything."

…

If someone told the researchers at the Remnant Astro-Institute that their problem of dust powered machines losing ability to function in a vacuum could be solved by them doing a hundred push-ups, a hundred sit-ups, a hundred squats, and a ten kilometer run every day, they would have referred them to the capable hands of the Severance Mental Welfare Group, located in Mistral.

Life is somewhat unfair sometimes, as the researchers will soon find out, because a certain bald man just stole the honors from any Remnant native to become the first man in space. And all because his urge to relieve himself broke their moon for the second time in recordable history.

"Yes ma'am…but I must ask if this is a joke ma'—I am taking it seriously ma'am! But you must understand the absurdity of the situation here: you are ordering us to monitor a 'bald honor stealing bastard' that is currently flying towards our moon. Its just impossible!"

Remnant's top astrophysicist, Gordon Free was having a bit of a rough day.

It all started when Supreme Commander Maleficent called, fury in her voice and wrath in her mind, to demand that Gordon locate a bald man in the troposphere.

This was likely the third stupidest thing Gordon was ever asked to do. The first two being trying to train a Beowulf to be a co-pilot (which resulted in the ship crashing before scheduled) and partaking in a debate about how gas could be more efficient propulsion fuel than dust. Simple facts were that if Dr. Gordon Free, with fifty years in space research, couldn't get a ship into space, no one else likely stood a chance. Especially not some bald guy.

Orders, are however, orders and Gordon begrudgingly accepted. The least he could do was give it a half-hearted shot. Right after he hand some coffee.

"We found him sir,"

Coffee exploded out of his mouth like logic out of the minds of Atlas's android development division when they proposed to add a consciousness engine into their machines. "What?" Gordon said, wondering if he misheard.

"We found him," the lead operator of the Sky-Watcher restated. "He seems to be making good speed, and will likely make impact the fragments of the moon in around a thirty seconds."

A mug found its way into a wall like it was shot out of a gun that manipulated gravity. Gordon's facial expression shot from intense suffering to abject despair before uncomfortably settling in the realm between near-death constipation and mortal injury.

"Ar—are we sure it's a bald man, and not a missile," Gordon spoke, making a last ditch effort to convince himself that astro-science was needed and no ordinary idiot with a lot of aura could just make a decent jump and get past the atmosphere.

The lead operator frowned at his superior and looked back at the large screen in the room that was obviously showing a bald man moving at sub-sonic speeds. "Missiles don't usually have arms or legs. Sorry Dr. Gordon, but its definitely a bald man."

Defeat found itself a new home in Dr. Gordon's soul as the scientist felt years of work and effort amount to nothing before one man who seemed must have made a deal with an unholy entity, gaining absolute power in exchange for absolute baldness. Find a chair to collapse upon and weep for his lost years, Gordon slowly stumbled out of the room in a stupor.

"You think he's going to be okay," as the communications officer, who witnessed all that had just occurred on the sidelines. The lead operator shook his head.

"A blow like that to someone's esteem will likely drive into the arms of despair forever, or force them into becoming something…darker."

Sobs quickly followed that statement as the room began to shake violent from uncontrolled outbursts of gravity manipulation.

…

Bird deaths were an unfortunate side effect of going subsonic upwards. Saitama understood that perfectly but it still bothered him when the ripples in the air he left behind sent a few unlucky avians to the great nest in the sky.

But that wasn't important right now. Every hero makes mistakes, some small enough to be forgiven instantly, while others might break a moon or two. But what really makes someone a hero is the fact that they will do anything to fix their problem.

Even if it was punching lunar pee fragments of certain death for the people below.

Clouds ripped as the Caped Baldy shot upward towards his herculean task, gusts of wind burst outwards in utter defiance of what was supposedly physically possible, and elsewhere bird Faunus began to get wing pains while flying from the sudden shift in the movement of the worlds air.

He saw them-smaller ones the size of a house, larger ones the size of a mountain range—coming down like the hammer of a dead god revived to find his world had been taken over by hairless monkeys who build began pooping in his favorite river. In between the boundaries of the thermosphere and exosphere, baldness and moon found themselves a place for collision that would be seen from the world below.

"Consecutive normal punches," Saitama said as he prepared to do just that. One punch could destroy most the fragments, but the bits that escape will likely be launched into the land below at world ending speeds.

In that moment, should another find themselves viewing the scene in clear visual detail like those at the Astro-Institute, they would see a wall made out of innumerable fists that surged forth through the air, shattering laws of reality and tearing the ozone far below.

If time should be frozen at the exact moment that Saitama threw all those punches, deep imprints of small fists would be found on the surface of each moon missile. Unfrozen gave considerably less detail.

After all, how would a massive explosion be described other than being a massive explosion.

For a moment, the sky would have been an ocean of clouds and blue skies, but loud bang, waves of force seemed to spilled over from where Saitama was, going ever outwards, splitting the blue open and firing clouds off like bullets to give way to a sea of stars underneath, and a darkness that had billions of sparkling gems spread within it washed over the sea that was the sky. Thousands across Vale gasped in horror and wonder as they had a clear view of what lay beyond their world, with the stars fluttering like gems beyond the point where the moon a was halted.

The wind didn't so much as blow that day as it hurried across the land, screaming about missing the bus and shoving the land mass a few meters north out of sheer haste. Then, not long after that, the hole in the sky closed as the wind rushed back, the bus they were so desperately chasing coming back home without them knowing.

Miles below, where Genos was waiting on standby in case of any rocks that escaped the encompassing blows of his master. Beside him stood Ozpin, a rather annoyed Goodwitch, and Ironwood, while Qrow was collapsed face down on the marble ground, unable to effectively use his drinking to cope with the insanity of the situation.

"Oum," said Ironwood simply.

"Yes that's…quite unexpected," Ozpin agreed. Glynda simply narrowed her eyes and clenched her riding crop tighter.

Shaking his head furiously, Ironwood snapped himself out of his stupor. "I need to make some calls." He was halted by a single statement from Ozpin.

"The Cross Continental Transit Systems seem to be down," Ozpin said simply. "It appears the shockwave disrupted the signal over the CCTS in Beacon."

Something sounding like a groan being dragged around a back alley and shot came out of Ironwood's mouth. Thankfully, his short range radio application was still in operation with all Atlas ships. He could still do some amount of damage control.

"Scorpion squadron, send your fastest vessel back to Atlas to let them know what just happened. If there is to be a trail for the man who nearly doomed and then saved the world, please let me know when it is so I can schedule my temporary leave of absence accordingly. I have no intention of touching this mess," Ironwood said.

" _Understood sir. Well let you know when to hide."_

"A bit dramatic don't you think," grumbled Qrow still face-down on the floor. "Well, at least I know we aren't dead, because you're still with us here Jimmy, and not in hell."

Glynda gave Qrow a slight kick to get him in order as Ironwood scowled and walked off.

"It seems that we will have much more to discuss with our most destructive savior," Ozpin stated as a certain bald spot reflected light all the way down to earth. "Professor Goodwitch, please notify the students that classes are cancelled for the rest of the day, and tell Professor Port, Oobleck to get the rest of the school staff together. We will need to deal with the Council."

"I'm starting to wish that the moon fragments actually made impact," Glyda said in irritation of the misery to come.

"A bit dramatic don't you think," Ozpin replied. She frowned at him.

…

Limitless physical capability doesn't mean much in a fall. Though jumping up was of no difficulty, Saitama had no ability to fly or even control his fall. Usually this meant that he was going to aim for an area that had less people in the case that he was forced to make such a leap but it seemed that the shockwave from his own blows sent him back down quicker than he anticipated.

So it came to that Saitama found himself smashing through the middle of Beacon's main avenue, before he skidded across the concrete and dirt with his baldness plowing through the ground as he went as he slowly grinded to a halt.

"Master, are you unharmed?" Genos inquired, legs still smoking from his near instantaneous mile dash over from the courtyard. "My scanners show no more fragments descending. It appears that you have stopped them all."

A blood red caped flowed across the air as the radiant light of the afternoon sun basked the bald figure in all its glory. His face was like a stone, a representation his willpower and lust for justice that could not be sated. Every man can make mistakes. A hero fixes theirs.

"…but despite all that you did for them, I do believe you smashed through a memorial of theirs," Genos noticed, as Saitama's serious face broke and he turned to look at the many pieces of the huntsman statue that he shattered so thoroughly. "They may attempt to fine us for that."

Few things can cause terrible pain to the Caped Baldy, punching of gonads and defender of cities. However, words like "due rent", "taxes", "reparations", "membership fees", and "fine" were torturous to his hero's heart.

"Genos," Saitama spoke with certainty in his heart and deception on his mind. "Part of being a great hero is to be able to fix what has been wrong. This is a lesson that matters sometimes even more than being able to defeat evil and defend the weak. A perfect opportunity to train has presented itself before us: we must fix the courtyard."

Nodding fiercely, Genos acknowledged his master's disguised plea as he tuned his incinerator in his limbs to the lowest setting in a attempt to utilize it as a welder. The broken materials that once stood as an extension of this school's culture and history lay scatted all across the avenue. This wouldn't be easy.

"Master," Genos asked remembering on detail that he needed before the reconstruction could begin. "Do you remember what the statue looked like."

Saitama stopped picking his nose for a second and thought long and hard to himself. "Well, it was very heroic and inspiring….."

…

"I can't believe that he blasted the moon parts into nothing! How does he do that? Do you think its part of his semblance?" Ruby chattered away at her teammates as they, along with the rest of the school made their way back into the hole filled buildings of Beacon Academy.

Walking down quietly down the main avenue was not an option anymore, considering what they just bore witness to.

"I don't think he's from around here," Blake said simply. "The clothes he's wearing; the way he looks. Its not native to anywhere on Remnant."

"Oh come on," Weiss spoke in disbelief. "Where else could he have come from? Its not like there are aliens."

"A man just broke the moon by going to the toilet," Yang said uncertainly. "I think that just about rejects everything we can probably assume is normal."

"Maybe he's like Penny," Ruby spoke up, not realizing what she said.

Weiss gave Ruby an odd look. "How is he anything like Penny? They are absolutely nothing alik—his most defining feature so far is being bald!"

"YeahyourrightforgetIsaidanything," Ruby blurted out eager to cover her mistake. No one needs to know that Penny is a robot. No one at all.

Yang sent her sister a strange glance but left it at that as they continued their walk with theories of what this bald guy could be. That was until they finally reached the statue. The masses of student and staff found themselves at a dead halt right before the entrance back into the Academy.

"Guys," Jaune asked as Nora giggled like a madwoman beside him. "Is it just me or did the statue used to look more…sane?"

"The latter," Blake whispered unbelievingly as she took in the view.

Where originally the mighty huntsmen and huntswomen stood in defiance of the Beowolf cowering beneath them, now was the cultural equivalent of a middle finger being pointed at every single hunter on the planet.

The large rock that the hunters stood upon were gone in place of a platform with holes in it. Gone was the heroic expression and intricately designed armor. Stripped were the weapons of old that told tale of a thousand victories. Banished was the Beowolf from sight.

Instead, what was remade stood as a mockery of all things hunter. The male hunter—at least that's who the students thought it was—stood with the Beowolf's head as one of his fists and the female hunter's torso as his other. He appeared to be standing directly across from an abomination, attempting to bludgeon it to death with impunity. This abomination, had the head of the huntress, the body of the Beowulf, and four hands grasping a sword, a battle axe, a broomstick, and what could only be the firm butt cheeks liberated away from the backside of the male hunter.

"Ho—how…by the grace of Oum," Pyrrha gasped in horror as cries of protest and anguish rose from the crowd at the desecration. A few rows of people ahead of them, Saitama was picking his nose while Genos was holding two buckets of paint.

"Are you sure they were only in red and green master?" Genos asked suspiciously. It seemed pretty awful and unlikely that a civilization would design their memorials without any artistic merit whatsoever.

"It should be," Saitama spoke. The truth was that he came down too fast to notice anything remotely resembling the details of the original structure, but to admit he was wrong at this point would be too late; Genos had already done so much, they couldn't turn back now.

"Students, we told you all to go back to the dorms and…and…" Glynda found herself at a loss for words. Ironwood pinched the bridge of his nose in a vain effort to will the sight of the statue away from his eyes while a stumbling Qrow on the verge of poisoning stumbled gave the memorial an odd look before dumping the contents of his flask down his throat.

"Now it looks like it used to," Qrow stuttered, happy that he managed to fix his own perception with the merits of alcoholism.

"I see you had a bit of an uncontrolled landing," Ozpin said taking a sip of coffee as he contemplated how to save what little dignity was left of the great hunter statue. "We…appreciate you attempting to repair the statue, but you may leave the remainder of the work to us."

A frown found its way on Saitama's face with that suggestion. He is a hero and was therefore not accustomed to being told to stop helping.

Even if most of it was his fault to a large extent anyway.

"I mean, Genos already rebuilt most the statue, we could just finish coloring it for you anyway, it wouldn't take too much work. Just some red and green," Saitama said.

Ozpin quickly held out his hands and gave a slightly disarming smile, aimed at both the clueless Saitama and Genos, along with Glynda, whose facial six pack now seemed to be on the verge of absconding from her face entirely to fight the living manifestation of baldness to the death.

He was met with mixed results. "Alright," Saitama conceded as Genos ceased his painting endeavors. "Its up to you all. Just trying to help, but it is your school." Ozpin quickly noticed the six pack going into its final form as Glynda held back expressions of agony and pain: her face muscles was cramping so hard that she was going to tear her own face apart.

Further in the midst of the students, a trio of plotters looked at the unfolding situation with deep concern and annoyance.

"I assume its time for more alterations to our plans huh?" Mercury spoke under his breath, deadpan and unblinking. Emerald quickly elbowed him for his lack of caution.

"Quiet!"

As they began bickering, gears into Cinder's head began turning as the furnace of her soul brought thoughts of fire and havoc to her mind. But no matter how she entertained her deepest natures to conquer and destroy this bald thing, she just couldn't quite see herself succeeding.

"We can't beat him," Cinder admitted simply. "He is simply far too…no, it won't work."

"Ma'am?" Emerald turned to Cinder concerned. Cinder couldn't be beat this easily could she?

"But we won't have to." Emerald's nerves calmed down at the sight of the scheming smile that she saw so often. "We won't need to fight him at all."

Taking note of all the angry faces in the crowd of students and teachers, along with the clueless expression on the face of Saitama who was currently conversing with Ozpin, a plan began to take shape in her head.

"And yes. It is time for more alterations."


	3. Fortune Favors the Bald

_Author's Note: Nothing in this owned by me. Except for the horrible situations that befall the characters: that is entirely my fault_

So how do you deal with a man who can break the moon with his urine? A terrifying fiend of a hero who is willing to punch those same urine fragments to stop a planetary destruction event?

Ozpin sure as hell didn't know, but he was going to have to come up with something brilliant soon, before Saitama had to be brought before the Vale Council to answer for all that had transpired. There was simply no covering or denying the happening of this event anymore; the moon was broken, and a bald man had done it.

When the world itself calls for the blood of a man who could likely kill every living thing on the planet, the word "tense" fails be a strong enough term to describe how furious the general public could be.

And besides, Ozpin didn't need hear the outcry pouring from the screen that was before him to know that public sentiment of this mysterious bald figure was absolutely abysmal, he had already seen the massive shadows of the Grimm horde building on the horizon. Before, only in times of war could enough negativity be generated to form a Grimm horde of this size.

All this to worry about along with as their unstoppable destructive savior sat in a chair picking his nose while his cybernetic apprentice scanned through multiple scrolls at once as to ascertain their position in this world.

"Look at them," Ironwood said. "Their clueless to what they're doing to the world. I just…it makes no sense how that caped bald one could be this simple but that powerful. I—I sent Atlas high command a report on all that had happened in the last few days. After questioning my mental state, they…they put me on mandatory leave. They are reassigning Winter to assist in the situation over here in three days."

Qrow groaned. "Great. Because princess snowflakes will make everything better."

Ironwood let out a sigh. He hated Qrow's incessant insults and jibes at his men and Atlas, but the drunkard had a point: Winter held to protocol like it was scripture. This was going to be troublesome

"The situation isn't that desperate," said Glynda, who seemed rather entranced by a video playing on her scroll.

Qrow blanched. "Well, I suppose only the unflappable Goodwitch would classify the world ending as a minor event."

"I mean that we don't need to send our 'guests' to the Council just yet."

An uncharacteristic curl found its way on Ozpin's lip. "Professor Goodwitch…explain?"

Turning to show the rest of her cohorts of the video that was taken of Saitama during the events of The Great Pee-en-ing, they began understood what she was insinuating. Apparently despite the event being recorded, the cameras were unable to get a clear shot on the individual who caused all the chaos.

"Huh, well I didn't see that coming," Qrow said.

 **CH.3**

 **Fortune Favors the Bald!**

The reflected glare off Saitama's bald head was so bright, it impeded sight of his appearance and those around him during the moments before the moon fall. Somehow, the sheer reflective power of his head went onwards to shine even as the sun was blocked out. Qrow theorized that any form of light is amplified by the sheer hairlessness of Saitama's head.

It was a stupid theory but so was breaking the moon apart with pee and look what happened. And besides, Qrow was a drunk hunter, not a scientist.

"Well," Ozpin said. "I believe that we may have a way to keep our guest away from the clutches of the Council and the uncomfortable politics of Remnant just yet."

Ironwood shivered. Despite the good news, he just didn't quite feel that all was going that well…

…

"Master, have you succeeded in defeating your foe yet?"

Genos received no answer beyond several loud cracks that resonated through the air. For the past few hours, he and his master found themselves placed in the guest room after a brief talk with the headmaster of the academy; topics consisting of strange concepts such as the "Grimm" or a thing called "Aura" were brought into question.

Not long after the few questions sent their way did Genos and Saitama find themselves guided into a quaint but spacious room with all the typical necessities, before the headmaster left them to their own devices, along with a few "scrolls". It seemed that the headmaster intentionally left them there intentionally.

It would have been a perfectly nice stay if only for one small problem…

"Damn you!" Saitama swatted. "Damn you to hell!"

Flies are not usually creatures that Genos typically applied the qualifier of "hyper-lethal" to, but considering how well his master was doing at eradicating just one…

Swats and smacks that cut through the air faster than any bullet before two palms found themselves in a dichotomous assault; an absolute annihilation of both soul and body, a realm of damage where the fly was trapped with no hope of escape.

Supposedly.

The fly flew out unharmed, barely registering the blow that could have rendered diamonds to dust. Fury welled deep in Saitama's soul at the tenacious resistance to death that the fluttering insect held.

Several more claps, each one harder than the last, every strike a blur beyond sight and speed, were delivered with killer intent against the stubborn fly. Small shockwaves shook the room and cracks grew out of the surrounding walls like a spontaneously forming web.

Saitama was just about to deliver another slap, before his rage was distracted by the door to the guest room bursting open to reveal a very tired, overly bothered white-haired girl with a murderous glare in her eyes.

"Do you know what time it is?" Weiss asked, hate more than words getting past her gritted teeth.

Saitama studied the miserable heiress for a moment before turning to Genos. "Hey, Genos? She's asking for the time?"

"It is approximately around midnight judging from the position that the moo—," Genos suddenly stopped remember the events that had transpired in the past few days. "It is approximately one in the morning if the budging of moon is taken into the account as well."

Weiss's lips curled into an agonized frown. "That's not the point?"

"Then why did you ask about the time?" Saitama asked confused.

"Because I wanted you to stop your maniacal clapping! My god, are you dense? We need to sleep! You there, aren't you annoyed!"

Genos's bright mechanical eyes found themselves looking at Weiss. His face stood on the edge of expressionlessness and being used to the antics of his master.

"Alright, maybe you don't need to sleep, but still!"

"Oh, well sorr—" Saitama's apology stopped halfway through as a taunting buzz drifted across his face before landing on Weiss's forehead.

Weiss's fury ceased for a second as she noticed the intense focus in Saitama's eyes and the clenching of his fists. "Uh…bald guy?"

"I'm called Saitama: hero for hobby," the bald hero said simply without taking any ounce of attention off the fly on her forehead. "Stand very still."

"Wait…don't you dare!" Weiss said, masking her plea in a threat.

A brief flash of red across her eyes and two cracks formed on the door behind her and a few strands of her hair fell, severed by an unseen force.

Weiss blinked. "Did you just swat near my face?"

Saitama didn't respond as he held his nemesis in two of his fingers, watching its surprisingly unharmed body flap desperately to get away from his fingers. Weiss narrowed her eyes at the fly and then glared at Saitama.

"You've been keeping everyone up…and nearly took my head off…because you were trying to kill a fly!" Weiss growled.

Saitama said nothing as he opened the window and flicked the fly off into the distance.

…

 ** _Half an Hour Later,_**

 ** _The White Fang Encampment…_**

"Soon, we will march to avenge ourselves on the humans for all that they have done to us," a series of cheer erupted from the Faunus warriors as Adam continued his speech, "to free ourselves from these shackles that the humans have leashed to us, in brutality, in poverty, in misery, is the duty to every single one of White Fang, for if we do not stand for ours, the who will!"

The cheers rose a pitch into a roar as White Fang stabbed their weapons towards the sky. Adam stood and took in the moment, savoring his fury and pride while swallowing his shame at being blackmailed into such a task.

The shame wasn't so much as Cinder's successful threats against his person, but the fact that she could achieve what the White Fang could not in the many years of their struggle. Still, despite the despicable circumstances of her involvement, Adam took the deal: his people's need for a victory cannot be denied by his distaste.

Taking a deep breath Adam prepared to feed his troops some more words to feed the fire within them all. The next few words would officially bring an end to his preparations, and begin their final steps to taking Vale: an impact must be made.

And an impact was made that day. Just not from the speech.

From where the White Fang sat looking up at the leader on his make-shift stage, it seemed like a missile of sheer force struck him right in the throat, driving all its momentum into him and launching him into the earth far below.

Landing in an explosion of dirt, multiple cries of "sniper fire" and "defensive positions" exploded from all sections of the camp, while the army of Faunus surrounded their downed leader.

Sharp eyes and powerful semblances came down upon the dark corridors between the trees in the forest where they hid in the vain hopes that the one responsible would pay. Fire and fury burned trees, beast, and stray Grimm alike in the hopes of driving out the assailant.

Coughing violently and swallowing painfully, Adam groaned and opened his eyes again. He saw a fly fluttering away from him like nothing had ever happened.

Smoke was drifting off the body of the fly…

…

 ** _Back in the Guest Room_**

"You are an irresponsible…vile…moon-breaking…aggghh!"

Saitama picked his nose as Weiss pounded her small fists into his chest in a futile display of anger. Meanwhile, Genos was back to scanning through the scrolls like nothing had happened.

"You should go back to sleep now," Saitama said, looking at the booger on his glove much to Weiss's disgust, "its really late now."

"Oh, now you tell me its late! Whose fault is it that I was up in the first place!"

"Yeah," Saitama rubbed the back of his head. "Sorry about that. Got carried away trying to get that fly."

"That's not a valid excuse! Just like its not a valid excuse to break the moon because you needed to pee! Just like its not a valid excuse to ruin the huntsman statue!"

"Your blood pressure is far to high for someone your age." Scanning her without looking, Genos continued to work on his information gathering. "You should calm down."

"Calm down? Calm down! He ruins entire planet and you're telling me to calm down!"

Both Saitama and Genos simply looked at her as if they were expecting her to keep going. Swallowing hard and taking a deep and agonized breath Weiss glared harder at the two in hopes that they would get her point and conduct a proper apology to her.

"Alright, so I dealt with the moon fragments," Saitama said, "and Genos did all that he could for your statue—"

"All that he could to make it look like an abomination!"

Genos simply shrugged at that statement. He knew that he was merely humoring his master's attempt at covering up his destructive landing. No one could make a statue that terrible.

Well, except his master of course.

"Well these things are all in the past now," Saitama continued on, ignoring Weiss inhale of offense. 'You should look more forward to the future. You're young."

"Don't deflect the topic!"

A sigh accompanied by the creaking of the door that led into the room interrupted Weiss's raging. A small redheaded girl dragged herself into the room, groans of displeasure and weariness following her through echoes from down the hall.

"Weiss," Ruby yawned as trudged next to her her teammate. "You need to stop yelling so loud. People are complaining that you are ruining their sleep."

Slippers of pure white fluff came down on the wooden floor with several agitated stomps before stopping right before a pair of puppy faced slippers.

"I'm being called noisy? He literally spent most the night trying to kill a single fly while running around a breaking the guest room! And people are complaining about me?" Weiss protested.

"Well, you are pretty loud," Saitama said starring at the booger on his glove.

"Shut up," Weiss growled.

Ruby rubbed her tired eyes as her grumpy friend continued her campaign of guilt and rage against the lord of the bald. As Ruby's blinked away the fatigue, she noticed the quiet young cyborg scanning through scrolls, mostly ignoring the chaos that was Weiss's displeasure in favor of learning more about Remnant.

Nervous but curious of mechanical youth that followed Saitama, Ruby found herself interested in the many mechanisms that composed the body of Genos.

Unlike Penny, who hid her mechanical nature, Genos was clearly made of metal. His eyes were orbs of digital lights and shifting lenses, but held some semblance of soul in them. His simplistic outfit did nothing to hide the many alloys that adorned his limbs and flesh, like the boy was sealed into a skin of chrome.

Ultimately though, it was his face that struck Ruby the most, past all the alloy and power that coursed across the wires symbolic of veins that ran and coursed throughout his entire frame.

His face, even with all the artificial protrusions that stood out of place on his flesh, told Ruby that he was young.

"So…um…are you a robot," Ruby asked, barely overcoming her hesitation. "Because your arms and eyes and stuf-not because robots are bad or anything—canipleaseseeyourarms!"

Intrigued by the small girl acting more like an overly excited puppy, Genos turned towards Ruby and extended his arms. "Be careful, incinerators are turned off, but caution would still be wise in a circumstance such as—"

"What kind of steel is it made of?"

Genos thought to himself. "The exterior alloy is made from an extremely enhanced titanium alloy, with the internal components held in structure by sophisticated plastics and series of extremely high powered carbon nanotubes. Each of the arms are connected to the central core, which allows me to transfer physical power to my limbs, or blast adversaries with my incinerator."

"Wow," Ruby breathed running her hands over the hardened metal that served as a synthetic skin. Under the cool alloy that was a heat that rumbled like the breath of an ancient beast, sending slight vibrations into Ruby's palm.

His arms reminded her of her own Crescent Rose.

"Their amazing," Ruby said, as a few globs of drool dripped out her mouth. "How do you stop your arms from melting."

Genos fell silent as the curious huntress bent down to gaze down the dormant incinerator. "Dr. Kuseno made sure to insulate the area around the incinerators."

"Dr. Kuseno?"

"Yes," Genos said. "He was the man who rebuilt me after…" The young hero stopped himself, uncertain of whether he should divulge his origins or not. The girl merely seemed nice, but Genos erred on the side of caution.

"After?" Ruby asked expectantly.

Genos looked away from her and went back to scanning the scrolls laid out before him. "I might tell you in the future."

"Well… alright," Ruby said, disappointed. "Hey, do you want to tour the academy?"

"Is it not rather late for you?" Genos asked, noticing the dark bags under Ruby's eyes. "You should go sleep."

"I can always do that during history class tomorrow," Ruby laughed. "Right Weiss?"

"I swear its like your brain was completely attached to your hairs!" Weiss cursed, ignoring Ruby's joke in favor of attempting to skewer Saitama with her tongue.

"Well, you get my point," Ruby said.

Gazing into her expectant eyes and watching the excited gleam on her face grow, Genos found himself unable to deny her offer.

Putting down the scrolls and holding off on his scans, the cyborg decided that it was time that he learned about the strange land that he was exiled to the old fashioned way. Besides, there is only so much about culture that a computer can hold.

"Very well," Genos said.

"Yes!" Ruby pumped her fist in the air. "Alright, so we can start around the garden in the back! Wait, no, the front gate! No, maybe I should show the dorms first? Would you like to see my dorm? I could show you my Crescent Rose? Well—lets figure it out on the way!"

Small hands latched on to a single steel finger as Ruby dragged Genos out of the room, giving Weiss a hasty farewell that was not responded to.

"I will be back shortly master," Genos said as he headed toward the door. Saitama merely sighed in response as he held his booger up before his own eyes as to distract himself from Weiss's rage.

Then he flicked.

…

For years, scientists have asked themselves incredible questions, ranging from "are we alone", to "how fast can I go before I turn into hamburger", or "what happens if I set this bear on fire". Indeed, in all the known universes that humanity Inhabited, curiosity was the defining trait that rose them to the stars.

However, even curiosity had limits, and as such no one ever bothered to discover how much damage a booger shot out of a railgun could do.

This question could now be credited to Cinder as she watched a section of her lieutenant's lower body sever before her eyes.

"Emerald, go get Mercury's leg," Cinder ordered simply, inquisitively studying the small crack in her wall. Looking through the small hole it seemed that the shot had bounced off the pipes hidden within the walls to pierce through their room.

Behind her, a dismembered bionic limb sparked and flailed on the floor next to the bed where Mercury lay, lacking a leg.

Feeling the small green substance, Cinder noticed a texture and stickiness that she found quite disgusting.

It looked a booger.

Someone made an attempt on Mercury's life with a booger.

Cinder frowned: someone was onto them.

…

"You just can't stop yourself from ruining things can you," Weiss groaned pointing out the hole in the wall.

"Ah," Saitama frowned. "Sorry, I was aiming out the window."

"Its right there! How could you possibly miss that?"

"There was wind," Saitama said.

"Wind?" Weiss hissed incredulously.

"Yeah, it wasn't a very big booger," Saitama said. "So the wind could—"

"Stop," Weiss said. "Just stop talking. Please."

"You're really indecisive. You ask me questions, then you don't want to talk." Saitama let out a huff and walked over to the couch.

Weiss quickly realized this technique of evasion, the old "I'm going to watch TV don't bother me" technique of avoidance that Neptune did after the match with team NDGO.

Men.

Letting out a long sigh, Weiss reigned in her rage with every bit of her will. The man she was dealing with was quite clueless, and being mad at him would not make anything better. She would handle this situation in a manner befitting of her status and upbringing.

She let out a breath and began. "Though you are completely underserving of my time, and completely deserve any and all of my ire, I, Weiss Schnee, am forgiving, benevolent, and magnanimous."

"Aren't all those the same thing?"

Weiss glared at him. "Bald guy."

"I'm called Saitama," Saitama said, annoyed. "Stop calling me bald guy."

"Alright, Saitama…" Weiss conceded, "You're a weirdo, in a weird land, and everything might as well be made of plasticize to you."

As if emphasize her point, a piece of the ceiling fell right between them from the cracks slowly spreading all across the room.

"But," Weiss said with a sigh, "you did save all of us. Even if it was your fault for breaking the moon in the first place."

Saitama rubbed his head to hide his embarrassment as Weiss studied him. He was a fool, a destroyer, and completely ignorant to the needs of other people, but she couldn't say that he didn't do the impossible and beat the moon.

Then, a loud rumbling interrupted her train of thought.

"What was that?" Weiss asked.

The rumbling came again and Saitama looked down at his stomach. "Sorry. I haven't eaten since I fought the Mars Beasts."

"Mars Beas—" Weiss gave up on trying to understand him. "Alright. Since you already ruined my sleeping schedule, I suppose I could guide you into the city so that you could get some late night supper."

Saitama's face lit up at his sudden fortune. "You'd do that."

"Of course," Weiss smiled. "I'm magnanimous. But you will owe me"

There was a certain glint in her eye when the said the word "owe". Saitama felt a slight chill at what that might entail.

Still, food was food, and he certainly didn't have a means of paying.

…

"They are leaving the room," Qrow said. "Suppose now would be the time to stop—"

"Let them go," Ozpin said, much to the surprise of all others in the room. "Qrow, trail Ms. Schnee and our guest. It would help to know if his nature is consistent in a more exposed environment."

"Headmaster, I must protest," Glynda interjected. "Should he become an active danger, or be known to the populace, he might bring the Council down on all of us."

"The Council will now of him," Ozpin said with a nonchalant tone. "A person of his nature, of his level of power, will never be able to stay quite for long. Professor Goodwitch, prepare our legal proceedings for what is to come. We cannot be certain of what he might do, but we can try to anticipate his character."

That train of logic was nice and all for discussion sake, but Qrow found himself asking about the one fear that all had."And if he decides to start breaking things again?"

Ozpin smiled. "I suppose you should keep him away from the moon then."

Alcohol found its way down Qrow's throat again as the hunter indulged in his favorite form of liquid therapy.

He would need a lot more of it to get through the next few days...

...

Beyond the reach of those native to Remnant, a shaken sky returned to its original form. Clouds found their way back together and the stars above where hidden again. All was seemingly normal, as the land spun around the sun, like it did before the "Pee-en-ing".

But far beyond the gaze of any eyes, past the suspicion of any wit, was something stirring from a long slumber.

For a millennia, it had slept silent among the emptiness of the above, unmolested, unbothered. But now, its cradle was broken, and its peace was shattered.

A dark claw slithers out of the cracked structure that was once its coffin.

A long shadow bleeds out of the moon.


	4. Limbs and Wok

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. Saddening but true._**

 _ **1:30 in the morning,**_

 _ **Vale….**_

Vale never slept.

Wherever, whenever, there was always a whoever there that was up, running and chasing their hours until someone else could take their place in the daily races.

Vale was a city of life, a land of adventure; grand, magnificent, and never weary.

The owner of A Simple Wok was one of the sleepless few that ran his businesses from dusk till dawn. For years, he has served faithfully across the land, before eventually settling in Remnant to find peace in tranquility in his later years behind the lines of safety granted by the hunters, in a city of wealth.

However, even the most innocent of souls have something to worry about, something to fear, someone they don't really want to serve.

Sometimes though, there is no choice in the matter.

"Welcome to A Simple Wok! How can I ser—!"

A loud cock told the old Shopkeeper that they weren't looking for food or company. As the five trespassed into his shop, out of the shadows and through the winds of the outside world, he could see them in their white uniforms. For a moment, he couldn't quite place why the clothes they wore seemed so familiar to him, but then the insignia brought it all back to him: the White Fang.

"Good evening," a deep voice rumbled. The vanguard of their group stepped up before the Shopkeeper, his shadow devouring the light of the room as he stood head over the old man. A long horn protruded from the top of his with a crimson tip, with his mask built around his physical characteristics. "I would like to persuade you to concede your shop to us for a few moments."

Fear gripped the Shopkeeper's heart as he nodded in concession. It was wise of him to wear the brown pants.

 **CH 3.5 Midnight Madness: Of Dismembered Legs and City Wok**

"Good," rumbled the horned White Fang. "Don't interfere and keep quiet. You just might make it out of this alive human."

Swallowing hard, the Shopkeeper ducked under his counter and began to take deep breaths, counting the days he had till retirement. Even while he inhaled, he could feel the mass of muscle that was the Vanguard stomp away back to the rest of his group.

"We should've just killed him," hissed a Fang with two scaled chunks of flesh hanging from their back. Should one look closely, they could tell that chunks were wings once.

"Always too bloodthirsty brother," the Vanguard answered as he cast a disdainful glance at where the Shopkeeper was hiding. "There is no point to killing such a weak creature. Besides, since we better than the humans, shouldn't it be wise to show mercy to our lesser."

The once avian Fang scoffed and glared out the window. The Vanguard gave his friend a soft smile for not pushing the issue on any further, and went to work.

The White Fang were not savages, like how most media outlets depicted them, nor were they fools of vile and reckless nature. Though their ranks hold a rather mixed group of individuals, the commanders and leaders were all well versed in the arts of combat and strategy, after all, quite of few of them were former veterans of the Faunus war.

So, it was under the cover of a typical week day night that they began their assignment, a task most integral for efforts weeks to come: zones of deployment. The focus was for the White Fang to unleash as much havoc as they could on the city, and to achieve such an objective, there had to be a degree of finesse involved, on location scouting must be achieved.

They were merely one group of the Fang, meant to secure places for airships to land, and furnish the buildings full of supplies for the oncoming assault.

All they had to do that this point was flip the "open" sign over and they would be home free.

It would soon become an impossible task.

"For the last time! Aura is not a brand of shampoo!"

These shrill words pierced through the door as the Vanguard froze mid-step. Not a few meters away from them, something like a beacon of light reflecting off a dome came towards them, brightening up the area all around it.

Then they saw her, in the darkness, in the distance, but her form and face unmistakable: Weiss Schnee.

The Vanguard's breath hitched as he removed his mask to get a more certain look at the spawn of the beast that slaughtered so many. It was certainly her.

"Is that…" the avian gasped.

"Yes. Weiss Schnee. Switch out of your uniforms. Remove your masks. We are taking her alive."

Brutual smiles spread across the faces of every single one of the Fangs.

"Aura is a shampoo brand back where I came from. It's meant to give you a barrier of fresh smell," Saitama said.

Weiss introduced her face to her palm. "That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard. How can a world be so—so—"

"I usually buy them in bulk during the months of April. Mass discount for toiletries are typically scheduled for April," Saitama continued.

Weiss sighed deeply. "Just open the door."

A blast of cold washed over the room as Weiss and Saitama slowly strolled into the inside of the restaurant. Finding seats before a very sweaty and shaky shopkeeper, and a few oddly underdressed individuals, Saitama gave a yawn and stretched out to find some comfort.

"Hey Mr. Shopkeeper?" Saitama asked. "Can I get a menu?"

If the Shopkeeper tried to nod normally, but his shaking was too much and a large glob of cold sweat splattered all over the table when Weiss was siting.

Disgust overcame her features as he shot the Shopkeeper a dirty look.

"S-s-s-sorry," the Shopkeeper shuddered. "Let-let me cle-clean that for you."

Reaching to wipe away the sweat with a rag, the Shopkeeper rubbed at the desk to no success. He was sweating more than he was wiping; he was actually adding more sweat onto the table, much to Weiss's continued disgust.

"Hey? Are you alright?" Saitama asked.

The Shopkeeper nodded solemnly before apologizing again and bringing out the menus.

"He might have a fever," rumbled Vanguard. "It's the season for it."

"Oh," Saitama said. "They why didn't he take the night off."

"Some people don't have that kind of luxury," grunted the avian. his stumps covered by an overcoat. "Some of us don't get born into the lap of riches or fortune. Some people gotta fight for what they want, sometimes from those rich bastards, who bleed the poor, who abuse the weak, because w—those different are somehow lesser than they are. Some of us have to keep going to get what we want."

An uncomfortable feeling rose out of Weiss's stomach as the avian glared at her.

"Is…is there a problem?" Weiss wondered.

"…Not for long," the avian hissed.

Clearing his throat, the Vanguard rectified the situation. "Not for long because I believe we will be getting our menus as well, won't we Shopkeeper?"

In a blur, the Shopkeeper pulled out five more menus for each of the Fangs, all drenched in his sweat and tossed them to each member with razor precision. "W—what would we all be having this evening."

Saitama scratched his head. "Hey—uh—girl."

"You forgot my name again didn't you?" Weiss sighed. "I'm Weiss. Weiss Schnee. Its not a hard name to remember."

Glass shards exploded out of the grip of the avian as Weiss finished reminding Saitama of her name. Startled glances from both Saitama and the heiress found their sights on the mess of broken glass all over the table.

"Sorry," the avian coughed. "I grip too hard sometimes when I get reminded of bad memories."

"Huh, you do that too huh?" Saitama asked. "Well. Suppose I can't be the only one with strength problems. Hey Shopkeeper, how good is your pigeon noodle soup?"

Blood began dripping out the avian's fist as he clenched even harder. Biting down on his lip hard enough to draw out blood, the avian let out a breath as he felt the Vanguard put a comforting hand over his shoulder.

"I—its crap," the Shopkeeper spat, a bit too soon. "All my meals dealing with birds are horrible."

A questioning look from Saitama emerged from how viciously the Shopkeeper was insulting his own work. "If they taste so bad why do you make them?"

"I don't!" the Shopkeeper answered. "I just haven't changed the menu! I was going to do that tomorrow."

"Oh…okay, I guess." Saitama frowned slightly and looked down the menu to find something else to order. "The Udon Rhino Charger? How is that."

It was around this point that the Vanguard stopped breathing for an instant that dug his fingers into the wood under the table. The avian reached over return the calming favor, but used the wrong hand and instead smeared glass and blood all over his friend's arm.

Weiss was beginning to get a bit disconcerted at the behaviors she was witnessing. Perhaps they were suffering from sleep deprivation as well.

"W-we are out of rhino meat!" the Shopkeeper cried. "I am so sorry. I am so sorry, truly everyone."

Saitama's cheeks twitched in discomfort as he saw the beginnings of a tear drop forming the edges of the Shopkeeper's eyes. As a hero, it was difficult to stomach the suffering of the innocent, and in this case, there was little Saitama could do: when a man is so dishonored by their own creations, all that remains for them is agony.

"Oh for the love of—" Weiss sighed. "Just bring us whatever you have on hand. Your service is terrible, if I wasn't this famished I would have left already."

Saitama gave Weiss a frown. "You're being a little too harsh."

"Hardly. He started a restaurant, so therefore he should be prepared to deliver on his services. I, for one, do not believe in handouts, things must be earned."

"I sup—uh, are you guys okay?"

Weiss turned her head to see all five of the Fang's glaring in different directions with bloodshot eyes. Small trails of blood dribbled out the lip of the avian as he bit down too hard for his flesh.

"Yes," the Vanguard forced out painfully. "We are fine. We are just very hungry, and would like to get something, anything. Right now."

"Fish—I have fish," the Shopkeeper mumbled.

"I don't care what kind of animal meat you have. Just make sure it tastes well. I'm willing to eat the creatures raw by this point."

"Like you don't already!" the avian roared viciously, his rage hitting the absolute limit.

A stunned expression came across Weiss's face as the avian stomped towards her. "What?"

"Its not enough that we suffer the indignities of poverty, or the slums, or that your kind can torture and mutilate us to your pleasure without any justice being done for us, you just have to mock us as mere animals as well!"

Reaching under his jacket he drew two curved blades as he flexed his stumps free of their cloth confines. "You kind did this to me! You mock me! We are in agony because of you!"

"But what did I-" Weiss asked before she saw the edge of the tattoo on his neck. "White Fang!"

"What's a White Fang," Saitama wondered, oblivious at all that is about to occur.

"Stop!" the Vanguard cried out, reaching out to grab his friend. "We need her alive."

But the avian did not hear him over the sound of fury, of blood boiling with the need to kill. Launching himself into the air with a furious squawk, the avian came down on Weiss like a hawk on a rabbit, uncaring that she had her blade drawn and at the ready.

A loud snap echoed through the room as the avian came down like a missile, slam down on the table where Weiss used to sit, knocking furniture and cracking the floor boards.

This was followed by loud screaming.

Standing over the avian, who now lay on the floor moaning in misery with the pain of broken wrists and snapped blades, Saitama dusted his costume off as he gave the rest of the Fang a blank expression. "Are you guys like the house of evolution for this world?"

"House of…what?" the Vanguard asked.

"They're Faunus terrorists," Weiss elaborated quickly, already drawing a glyph in preparation for the battle. "They are here for me."

"Faunus?" Saitama wondered. "And why are they after you?"

"Because what she did to us," the Vanguard bellowed in a low tone. "For years, her family has enforced a reign of tyranny over our people, using us as mere tools to assist in labor without pay, then oppressing us when we seek to rise up as equals…"

Boredom already began to take form in the edges of Saitama's mind as the Vanguard droned on about pain and injustice.

"Even after we fought a war for our rights, they still denied us what we were due! We were at the very best, still secondary to them! Still lesser! Still little better than slaves with looser chains!"

Blinking away the dryness in his eyes, Saitama wondered how far along the Shopkeeper was with getting the food ready.

"It is because of this that I implore you to step aside! Step aside and we will forget what just happened! Step aside and let us have Schnee, and we shall part in peace! No…as friends! You know this to be right! Just give in to us an-"

"Just say it all in twenty words or less!" Saitama groaned. "What's the point of talking so much. Everything is just the same thing over and over."

The Vanguard fell silent as a darker expression over took his face. "So, what will it be then."

Casting a look at the heiress already in her battle stance, and another at the shaking Shopkeeper, standing behind his counter with two large bowls of noodles, Saitama understood what he had to do. "Well, I still need her to help pay for my meal so…"

"Wait," the Vanguard said. "You are taking her side, because she promised you a free meal."

Saitama nodded. "And I'm also a hero for hobby, and it would probably be bad for my record if I just let you all take her."

"Glad that you regard me so highly," Weiss snidely remarked.

"Its my job," Saitama agreed without catching any bit of the sarcasm.

The Vanguard sighed. "You're an idiot. Get them"

As havoc unfolded across the street, Qrow took a drink from his flask and turned on his scroll.

"Ozpin, jam the police channels. And tell Ironwood to send a few of his robots"

" _The first part will be no problem. The second, well…we will have to wait till James regains consciousness."_

Qrow snorted. "Did Jimmy fall asleep on the job again?"

" _No. It appears that, while he was starring out the window, a metal leg came through the glass, hitting him in the face and bouncing back out."_

"A leg?"

" _A leg."_

Qrow sighed. He needed more alcohol.

…

 _ **1:30 in the morning**_

 _ **Beacon Academy…**_

A pleasant breeze drifted through the air as two very different souls wandered the school grounds, one trying to understand more about the strange world he found himself in, the other wondering what the former's eyes were made of.

"So that's the Guan Yu Arena there. We usually take classes with Professor Goodwitch there, along with any courses relating physical exercise. Its probably Yang's favorite building, probably because she gets to hit Cardin between the legs every other week there—Genos, what are you looking at?"

"What is that?" Genos asked, pointing at the tower that loomed over Beacon.

Ruby starred questioningly at her metallic companion, who looked distracted by the the tower in the distance. Ozpin's Tower, the dreaded realm for all students struck by misfortune of failure or transgression, a place where none wish to venture.

"That's where Headmaster Ozpin works. Most students only get sent up there for administrative reason or if something bad happened. Its mostly just reserved for teachers."

"Why does he need an entire tower for that?" Genos asked.

Ruby frowned as she wondered the same thing as well. She had seen the layouts of the other academies, and she never saw anything nearly as large or out of place as Ozpin's tower in any of them. In fact, the students usually only got to get up to the third floor before their access was denied.

"Maybe he just likes having a lot of space?" Ruby tried to answer.

Genos narrowed his eyes at the tower, paranoia growing and suspicion aroused. He would have to investigate that further on his own time.

"Come on," Ruby said. "We still got a few more places to go and see."

Nodding wordlessly, the cyborg pulled his focus away from the tower and followed Ruby down the path. It seemed that he had much to uncover about the world should he wish to better understand the situation that he and his master was in.

…

In most cases, if you were found holding a dismembered leg while standing in a dug out ditch and having a most disturbed expression on your face, most would assume you guilty of some horrendous crime.

Not Emerald Sustrai though, she had a perfectly valid reason for being out looking for stray legs: Mercury lost his when someone took a shot at them.

It was after twenty minutes of holding up a visual illusion in their room while hiding under the bed before she was called out by Cinder, who told her the shooter was gone and that she had to go get Mercury's leg. It seemed an easy task, until she noticed the leg still soaring through the air in the distance, going further and further until it collided with Ozpin's tower before falling into the garden far down below.

And off she was, tracking a missing limb, her lack of sleep not helped by her bad mood trying not to murder any students to preserve their façade. Which eventually brought her up to this point, after half an hour of rummaging through plants and dirt, did she finally catch a glimpse of the familiar boot sticking out the earth.

Reaching deep into the earth, she pulled and dug, yanking at the solid augmented limb with her might. With a final hard heave and a loud pop, dirt and earth erupted out, giving way to her grip and release the leg from its prison.

Letting out a breath of relief, Emerald shook her head and prepared to head back. She should have known that it was not to be that simple.

"Right up ahead there is the—oh hi Emerald!"

A few slips of vile language were hissed out of the underdressed girls mouth as she faced Ruby. Noticing Genos standing right beside the young girl as well, Emerald forced the biggest smile she could on her face and applied it with a wave. It was then she realized that she lifted the wrong arm.

"Uh, Emerald, why are you holding a leg?" Ruby asked, while Genos tilted his head curiously at the limb.

A dryness welled up in Emerald's throat as she desperately went through the list of lies that she could deploy against Ruby and the cyborg. Unfortunately, Emerald was a far better thief than liar, and what came out was, "I use it to dig!"

"What?" Ruby questioned.

Emerald's eye twitched. "I—I use it to dig."

"You use a leg to dig?" Ruby asked again.

"Y—YES! It's…it's a cultural tradition from Mistral. We dig with legs on certain nights when the light is right."

As if to demonstrate the truthfulness of her words through action, Emerald immediately dashed over a patch of dirt and began beating it as furiously as she could with Mercury's leg, knocking chunks of earth and flowers everywhere, like a humanoid weed whacker with a vendetta against all things plant.

"Okay…" Ruby said trying not to offend anyone's traditions with her doubts about the validity of such a tradition.

"Interesting, can you tell me how this tradition came to be," Genos asked with a hint of disbelief in his voice.

Silence came over Emerald as she stopped beating the floor like it was her stepchild and looked up at the bright mechanical sockets that gazed deep into her.

She gulped. "Yeah, it is interesting. It all started when….Marco Coloumbo lost his leg…hundred year ago….he was stuck on an island, and used it to dig for freshwater?"

Sounding more like a question than a proper answer, Genos found his disbelief aroused further. "It is strange that I have never come across this Marco Coloumbo when going through information in the scrolls."

"He's pretty obscure…yeah. No one outside Mistral knows of him."

"Really?" Genos asked.

"Yep." Emerald stood in place trying to seem natural, but failed miserably. Her mind began to drift towards alternate options: combat, escape, and deception all seemed like possible venues when dealing with the girl but the cyborg…

She looked at the gleam of his arms in the moonlight, the feel of the heat that drifted off the bright lines power all over his body, and the sheer focus that his piercing optics had. Emerald was a thief, not a gambler, and a thief knows a mark that they can't quite touch yet. This cyborg was definitely one of those marks.

"Wait," Genos said. "Can I see the leg?"

Emerald froze in place as the worst possible question came down on her like a hammer. Her heart stopped and her sweaty rained down her body like her pores were tear ducts that had onions rubbed over them.

"N-no?" Emerald said.

Genos frowned. "Why not."

Running out of options, Emerald resolved to do the one thing she could whenever too much trouble came her way: her semblance, so that her lies may come to life before their eyes and grant her passage away.

Almost instantly, a burning man ran screaming past Ruby and Genos, rolling on the ground and begging for help. Ruby sprung into action to help the man, and Emerald acted along asking Ruby to hurry up while slowly moving further and further away from the two, but Genos just stood still, giving both Ruby and Emerald odd looks like they were both insane.

It was at this moment that Emerald felt like slapping herself. His bright mechanical orbs gazed deeply into her and she felt herself unravel under his sight, like she was trapped in his eyes a fire rose within them to burn away all deception.

From his visual preceptors, connected to an equally enhanced mind, Genos saw the truth, and the truth was that Emerald was holding a leg, which his scans told him was a cybernetic limb, and Ruby, who was dashing around at abnormal speeds splashing water from a water fountain on the pavement while crying for Genos to help her put the burning man out.

His confusion grew.

Dread was all that Emerald could sense as she realized Genos could see through her illusions and she felt her grip on Mercury's leg slacken; should it come to it, she would need to fight.

And then, all her dread faded in an instant.

"Is there a problem here?" a smooth voice interjected upon the scene. Her midnight black hair drifted through their air much like her word did as she approached Genos, her eyes burning like gems in the night, looking not at Genos, but through him as they spoke to Emerald, telling her to relax.

The mechanical youth turned to address Cinder, but was struck silent by her presence. She seemed normal, despite her somewhat lacking attire of just a jacket and wraps for her upper body in the low temperatures of night, but her presence was unmistakably threatening. Genos knew that feeling. he knew it well.

"Lack of sleep can do interesting things to a person's," Cinder said while beckoning Emerald. "I apologize for any trouble that my teammate brought either of you."

"Wh—what happened to the burning man?" Ruby asked, rubbing her eyes.

"You're merely tired," Cinder said.

"But she saw the same thing."

Cinder smiled at the girl, and deeped the smile at Genos. "How coincidental. Perhaps you both should talk about it more tomorrow, after you both get some sleep, right Emerald?"

"Right," Emerald answered with the best yawn she could fake.

She almost turned to leave, but stopped herself. She almost forgot her primary objective for coming out. "What's your name, friend?"

Genos returned no expression. "Genos."

"Genos. You are an oddity to Remnant Genos. A stranger. And strangers arouse suspicion and fear, especially around the more…paranoid students."

Genos narrowed his eyes at her.

"But I think that you are far more alike to us that we know. Perhaps you could come out to the Tournament tomorrow, address the crowd. Or at least talk to some of us during a class. It can't hurt."

Releasing the tension from the situation Cinder watched as the muscles around Genos's eyes lessened in intensity.

"I will consider it."

"That's all I can ask for."

Stepping off into the midnight winds, Cinder prepared to slip away back to her dorm, but a question stopped her.

"Wait. I told you my name. What is yours?"

Stopping mid-step with only a moments hesitation, Cinder constructed a proper lie. "Ella Tremaine."

She couldn't quite tell if he believed her cover, but it didn't matter, it was merely supposed to stall, for once the plan comes to be, there will be nothing anyone can do about it.

No matter how much force they possessed.

"I bid you goodnight, Genos."

"Same to you."

And they separated much like how they met, with distrust and uncertainty growing within them, and with more questions than answers.

"Ruby?"

"Yes?" she replied.

"If you wish you can finish showing me the rest of the school tomorrow. I must go find my master now."

"Oh. Okay," Ruby answered with a slight edge of disappointment. That edge did not last. "Can I come with you?"

"Are you sure you don't need sleep right now," Genos asked, image of the young girl splashing water on the pavement fresh in his mind.

"I'll be fine," Ruby answered with two thumbs up. "I'll tell you if I see any more burning people."

"Very well," Genos conceded to her puppy-like nature: he couldn't find it in himself to deny her.

And besides, what the worst that could occur.

An explosion in the distance quickly answered that for Genos...

 **Alrighty, this one's going to be a two parter, and the last bit of pre-plot mayhem before everything starts going to hell in ernest. Now I know that in the past week, ships have been sunk and revelations have been made, so there will be special attention paid to those bits. Special as in "salt" and bits as in "wounds". Beyond the boring details, expect to see chaos unfold in Vale sooner than anticipated. Also, there might be some punching.**


	5. Midnight Stroll Part II

**Disclaimer: Don't own, so please don't sue.**

 **A Midnight Stroll Part II**

 **Stoll Harder**

If Qrow was not certain that Saitama did not know of his presence, he would have sworn that the bald maniac was trying to kill him.

Ducking under the massive Faunus vanguard that was launched through a window, a wall, before bisecting a trunk and nearly spattering Qrow with his sheer girth, the huntsman cursed as he slid across the pavement and dashed towards the restaurant.

Unsheathing his scythe, still in its basic blade form, Qrow prepared to kick down the door before he was struck still in the act: he had forgotten something terribly important!

Qrow took a swig of his flask, and with a nice buzz coming on, he kicked at the door, just in time for his foot to come into contact with the face an unfortunate Fang, who found himself being launched through the door.

Coughing awkwardly as the Fang collapsed into a completely shattered heap of misery, Qrow shook his head and refocused. He had to make sure Saitama did not cause too much trouble as to garner the attention of the local authorities.

Deep down inside, Qrow had an itching suspicion that he was sent on a futile task by Ozpin.

Meanwhile, Saitama and Weiss were more concerned by the growing horde of White Fang's that seemed to be rushing out every dark corner of the room.

"Yaaai—" Weiss growled but failed to deliver on her stunning verbal intensity; the Faunus she was going after was punched through the roof by an explosive light jab.

Undeterred, Weiss spun on her heel to engage another Fang that was dropping in from the newly made opening in the roof. "Grahhh!" Weiss roared as a line white glyphs beckoned the tip of her blade towards the exposed chest of the surprised Fang at subsonic speeds.

Which of course, was when the bald monstrosity suddenly appeared right in front of her, and casually taped the Fang on the top of the head so lightly that only half his body was rooted into the earth down below.

However, Weiss was experiencing a different problem at that point, being the fact that she found herself unable to stop stop her momentum or change of vector of motion at that point, which meant that she was thought she was going to impale Saitama right in the back.

What actually happened was a sudden stop as her arm jarred violently, spending painful spasms down her wrist and up to her shoulder as her speed suddenly stopped.

"Agh!" Weiss cried. Saitama turned and gave Weiss a wide-eyed look, as he watched her shake the pain out of her hand.

"Oh, are you injuried? You can sit this one out if you aren't ready."

A sudden sensation of surprise came over Weiss as she looked up at his clueless eyes, and his genuine nature; he, though a dolt through and through, did indeed care to some extent. This sudden warm sensation quickly quickly found itself overthrown by pure rage and humiliation as she realized how her agony came to be.

"You stupid bald…gah!" Weiss groaned. "If you just stayed out of the way, I wouldn't have hurt my arm on you."

Saitama tiled his head and frowned at her as a random Fang broke his cleaver over Saitama's diamond hard skin. "You're very unreasonable, W—Wei-girl. Instead of blaming me for being in the way, why can't you just go around me. Aren't you supposed to be in a hero school? Going around is not that hard."

Watching the Fang break his wrists across Saitama's face with a final desperate blow, the color red began flood Weiss's features. He dared to insult her by forgetting her name, insinuate that she was a failure of a huntress, and claim that what he does—and how in Oum's name does he do it—is all second nature?

In that moment, Weiss knew a hatred like no other.

Walking up to Saitama, giving him the harshest glare she could muster, Weiss delivered her ultimate attack that not even an unbreakable man could withstand. "By the time tonight is over, you are going to learn my name. You are going to stay out of my way as I, myself, defeat the rest of the White Fang. Without you! And if you don't, you can…forget…about…dinner."

Saitama simply gave Weiss a blank stare as his brain drifted off into wondering if it was a Monday or a Wednesday back in the Cities: he should get back soon; he was going to miss the big finale of _The Crimson Angel_.

"Bald—Saitama," Weiss said with a tone of surprised annoyance. "Did you hear what I just said?"

"Okay," Saitama simply agreed.

"Alright then," Weiss said with a magnificent smile at finally getting her way. "Stand back and behold how a properly trained huntress, armed with the full might of the Schnee cor—"

A shotgun to the ribs tended to interrupt most speeches. It definitely did so for Weiss.

"When you fight try not to talk," Saitama advised as Weiss railed on the Fang that dared strike a blow against her aura. "Its bad for your defense."

A resounding cry of 'shut up!' told Saitama how much his advice was wanted at that point.

"Well, I gotta admit," Qrow said, with his blade now sheathed again despite the carnage all around them, "you clean house pretty good."

"I suppose," Saitama said while scratching his armpits. "Hey, aren't you that guy…the one who smells like a brewery?"

"Heh. Yeah," Qrow answered as he took a swig from his flask. "I thought you were one of my drunk visions. Never thought someone could be that..."

"Powerful," Saitama answered with a bored yawn.

"I was going to say bald, but sure."

Sending Qrow an annoyed expression, Saitama rubbed the top of his head as the drunken huntsmen shouted phrases of 'demotivation' at Weiss.

"There are only three of them…uh…smaller Winter. Even with how bad she was with those swords, she would have beaten them by now," Qrow 'encouraged'.

"Ihateyoutwosomuch!" Weiss hissed through clenched teeth as she was forced to block another overhead strike, footwork too slow to outpace the viper Faunus that was dead set on making her head explode. The impact forced her back a few steps as the viper drew ever closer, but Weiss drew on months of sparring with Yang as she turned at an angle slightly and parried the blow off to her side.

Weiss side-stepped the viper, before planting a white glyph right on his back and launching him into another Fang as a missile. Deflecting a spear at her abdomen, Weiss guided the spear into the path of other weapons and bullets raining down near her, stepping to the outside of the Fang spearman.

Two quick jabs to her current adversary's knees brought him low, before wrapping an arm around his neck. Leaping up with her beaten foe in her arm, she bounced off a glyph in mid-air before planting another on the back of her broken foe and launching him into a crowd of his comrades.

A massive eruption of ice sealed their fates as Weiss landed with a flourish. Breathing deeply to control her pounding heart, Weiss turned to give both Qrow and Saitama a wide grin.

She then found a long tongue wrapped around her throat, and the owner of said tongue repeated punching her in the side of the face not too soon after.

"Celebrated too early," Qrow chuckled. "Amateur mistake."

"Aren't you supposed to be keeping your students safe," Saitama asked.

"Nope. Just here to make sure you don't get on TV. Hell, I don't even think I count as faculty. Why aren't you helping?"

Saitama shrugged. "She wanted to handle it herself." Qrow narrowed his eyes at Saitama as an overly muscular toad Fang dragged Weiss across the room and power bombed her on the Shopkeeper.

"Heh. She's Winter's sister alright. Now if she can just get the fighting up to par, she finally be able to consider herself an mediocre" Qrow said, as Weiss jabbed her finger into the Fang's eye and kicked at his ankles. A lucky flail was rewarded with a loud pop the heiress's heel dug into the sensitive cartilage of the ankle, sending the toad to the floor in an agonized heap.

"I remember the first time I was doing the hero stuff. Wasn't that easy for me either," Saitama said, as Weiss leapt up to her feet, bruised, dirtied, but far from done. "It took me a long time of grueling training to finally get this strong."

Qrow's eyebrow raised. "What kind of training lets someone break the moon in half by whizzing?"

Saitama hardened his features and narrowed his eyes. "100 push-ups. 100 sit-ups. 100 squats. 10 kilometers. Every day. Without AC."

Bitter chuckles burst out of Qrow's as the huntsmen shook his head. Baldy had a good sense of humor, and its been a while since someone mocked Qrow to his face. Besides, it was unrealistic to think that anyone would give away the secrets to their strength so easily.

Someone who did that must be absolutely dense.

By this point, Weiss finally managed to lacerate the thighs of her adversary enough that he was rendered limp and motionless. Wiping the sweat from her brow and the dirt off her skirt, she flung her head back and began readjusting her hair. However, there was a matter of importance that went unnoticed by her.

"Why are you always posing in the middle of battle," Saitama said, as an entire squad of Fangs all flung themselves onto Weiss's person and began trying to pound her into the wooden floor. "You know the fight's not over yet right?"

A sudden flash of yellow signaled the activation of Weiss's acceleration glyph as the ashen-haired huntress rose from the ground in a flash, enemy weapons breaking apart in subsonic collisions with the afterimages of her sword, her stamina driven past exhaustion by pride and the possibility of humiliation.

Stabbing through the thighs of one Fang, she launched the unfortunate soul along for a ride of cruelty, as a glyph of red flared around her person: for the next few seconds, she was to become force incarnate, and then promptly collapse from exhaustion.

As the poor impaled Faunus squealed in pain, Weiss spun with a dancer's grace and an archer's accuracy, delivering surgical strikes to the knees, necks, and faces of the squad that dared to ambush her.

One foot in front the other, her stance drifted like a leaf through the spring winds; one by one, they collapsed before the viciousness of the Schnee; her focus unfailing and her motions fluid like a running river.

Then, the red wore off, and Weiss felt a terrible weight upon her body.

Her sword fell out of her hands like it was a ton of bricks, as the bruised and barely breathing Fang still stuck to it coughed and gasped. Weiss herself wasn't doing much better in the exhaustion department, as sweat dripped down her body, wracked with fatigue spasms, while she swallowed repeatedly, desperately, attempting to fight the urge to throw up so that she could retain a modicum of dignity.

Taking a few deep breaths, the shivering, shaking Weiss found got off her knees and onto her feet, holding her head back triumphant as she, and she alone had defeated the Fang; the bald fool had no right to tell her that she was lacking!

Then, instead of feeling immense pride, she felt despair as she noticed the many, many more members of the White Fang charging towards them, just outside the broken door.

Qrow scratched his head. "Well, damn. There are a lot more of them than I suspected."

Saitama frowned. "How did so many people dressed like that manage to sneak into this city?"

Qrow spat in disgust. "Ironwood. The damn fool wouldn't see anything come if it came up behind him and hijacked his entire army out from under his nose."

"Oh. Ok." Saitama said.

"And its not enough that he has to be foolish alone, he has to take the rest of us down with him, into the same pit of stupid that he came out from. I don't know how Atlas trained their Hunters but if he's in charge…if he has command…oh well, I just can't image what a nightmare they would…heh."

A single bullet flew right over Saitama's head landing, blowing a clean hole through the wall in the back, right next to where the terrified Shopkeeper was hiding.

Weiss slowly staggered over.

"And its not like Ozpin didn't give him a chance. Oum, Ozpin gave him too many chances, and the first opportunity he gets, he turns around and bites Ozpin. All because a couple of slanted politicians felt 'unsafe'!"

Saitama felt a headache come on as he watched the White Fang grow ever more in number, their brothers and sisters seemingly emerging out of every spot of darkness beyond sight.

Weiss huffed, "Alright, what should we—"

"And don't get me started on Winter," Qrow rambled, cutting Weiss off as veins began to pop out of Saitama's head. "'Yes, sir General Ironwood'! 'Is my performance good enough General Ironwood'? 'Its not my fault General Ironwood, the big bad Qrow made m—"

That was it, Saitama couldn't take it anymore. "Enough, you idiot," came a synonymous roar from both him and Weiss.

A look of surprise appeared on Qrow as Weiss and Saitama double teamed him in their mutual hatred of his tangents. A similar sense of surprise welled up within Weiss as for the first time, in a moment of sheer impossibility, she found herself in agreement with the baldy.

Meanwhile, the White Fang found themselves growing increasingly lonely without a proper battle. A single shot came out from the crowd and bounced off the side of Saitama's head. "That…that was just a warning shot," lied a Fang. "Ne-ne-next one will get you good."

Expecting a response from Saitama, Qrow turned to find the destroyer he was meant to watch already outside the door, bent over as the many immediately lost their nerves, firing their guns and flashing their blades.

Despite the numerous foes bearing down on him, and their bullets bouncing off his skin, Saitama did not fret. He simply dug one hand into the pavement right beneath him.

Dozens of moving feet scrambled to a halt as a feeling of dread overcome them at the sight of their own fearful faces reflected off a bald dome brightened by nearby streetlights. They then received the pleasure of watching their fearful faces turn to absolute terror as Saitama began sending waves of concrete their way.

The once stable ground now moves in waves of concrete, metal, and glass as Saitama pulled the ground up from its foundation with two fingers and began to shake it up and down like he was holding one end of a jump-rope.

Cries of sheer terror exploded as chunks of everything that was once road accompanied the many Fangs in an impromptu trip across the sky, sending Faunus, objects, and the city's repair budget into an uncontrolled spiral towards the broken moon above.

Patting the dirt off his gloves, Saitama casually strolled pasted a Qrow who found himself sniffing the contents of his flask, along with a dumbstruck Weiss, who was slowly beginning to understand just how stupidly strong her new nuisance was. Finally, the ultimate hero plopped his rear down on one of the few remaining seats in the restaurant and waved at the Shopkeeper, whose jaw was hanging on a thread.

"I would like my noodles now. She is paying for me."

…

"Agh, what…agh!" Ironwood lifted a hand to soothe his aching head. One of his eyes were swollen shut and his brain felt like something was trying to jackhammer its way out from the inside.

"Stay still," Glynda said. "You took a pretty hard hit."

"What? Are we under attack? What hit me? Its like my aura wasn't even there."

A hand came into Ironwood's view as Ozpin stood above him, offering to help the General back to his feet. "We are not under attack James. I could be mistaken but unless our adversaries have begun the stage in their campaign that demands the use dismembered robotic limbs as single shot projectiles, this may be just an accident."

"Leg? Accident?"

Ozpin breathed in the wondrous fumes of his coffee as a sense of calm came over him again. Caffeine: the only thing he could count on to help explain the insanity that occurs around him.

…

Ruby typically did not care too much about the weather. Back in Patch, it was perpetually sunny or snowy depending on the season, with only rare occurrences of rain. It was a stable environment that did not hold much in terms of surprise for those who lived there.

However, when dozens of White Fangs fall from the sky along with other miscellaneous debris, one would have to wonder about just what was being evaporated into the clouds.

"Hmm, signs of destruction, falling people from the sky, and distant explosions," Genos said. "There could only be one explanation for this."

"That the end times are near and that the White Fang have integrated themselves with the clouds to invade us?" Ruby hazarded a guess.

"My master is nearby."

"Oh yeah, the bald moon breaker guy. That's probably more reasonable…never thought I would say something like that."

Triangulating the origin that all the Fangs were falling from, Genos found himself with a general direction of where his master could be, and without a second word to Ruby, he sped off with with a burst of speed.

In a rare moment of surprise, Genos noticed that she wasn't far behind him.

Dashing past surprised pedestrians, the two blurs sped towards their destination, their movements guided by the growing trail of debris and damage, until they finally found the peeled folds of what once used to be an entire road pulled out of its foundations, and the mostly ruined _A Simple Wok_ housing three very different souls.

"Whoa," Ruby breathed as she stepped over the barely alive Fangs that decorated the broken road and shattered neighborhood. Despite the sheer damage done, it seemed that somehow, against all odds, the Fang's were still clinging on to life, albeit in conditions arguably worse than death.

Genos, on the other hand, was uninterested in the numerous shattered souls that gave the ruined road patterns of writhing pain. Instead, he found himself look through the broken windows of _A Simple Wok:_ his master had been found.

"Genos? What are you looking a—" Ruby gasped in shock. Breaking off her sentence right then and there, she dashed over the debris that used to be the walls of the place and tumbled in right next to her teammate.

"Weiss! What happened to you? You look like Yang's first boyfriend after she caught him behind the tree with that Valencia girl!"

A hoarse gurgle between a cough and a groan answered Ruby as Weiss mustered the remainder of her strength to address her team leader. "Fang. Bald. Wok. Pain."

"Yeah, that pretty much sums it up," Qrow said.

"Okay…but why does it look like Weiss did all the fighting?"

"She did," Qrow answered. "It was adequate. Barely."

A growl that reminded Qrow of Winter escaped Weiss's throat.

"She did pretty good," Saitama said. "There was a whole lot of them. I was surprised she got that far."

A confusion caused Ruby to wrinkle her nose. "So, she did fight all on her own?"

Saitama nodded.

Ruby gave the fiercest glare that she could muster, which promptly bounced off Qrow and went unnoticed by Saitama "Why didn't either of you two help her?"

"She wanted to prove her own worthiness," Saitama answered.

Ruby frowned, before turning to her uncle.

Qrow looked at his own reflection in Ruby's slightly narrowed eyes and sighed. "She seemed to be doing pretty well. And I was only meant to watch the bald guy."

"Uncle Qrow! Your supposed to defend all those in need!"

"Usually after they pay me," Qrow said. "And I also really didn't want to clean my blade afterwards."

"Uncle Qrow!"

Qrow gave his niece a grin. "Come on squirt you know how your uncle Qrow is."

Giving her uncle a huff of disappointment, Ruby went over to console Weiss's as best as she could. Still grinning, Qrow shifted his attention to the conversing Genos and Saitama.

"Well," Qrow said, "welcome to Vale. Nice city isn't it."

"Its very well maintained," Genos said, before thinking to himself. "At least parts of it are."

Qrow laughed as he guzzled the contents of his flask down his throat again. "Should've been here during the Grimm attack. Then you could have seen the mess it was."

Genos scanned the damage around the area. "This kind of damage is consistent with daily to day life in the cities that we hail from."

"Hmm," Qrow said. "So you have yourselves a problem with property damage too huh?"

"Yeah," Saitama answered with his mouth still full of noodles. "The cities take a lot of damage sometimes. We even lost a few."

Everything up till the 'lost of a few' was understood by Qrow. "What do you mean you lost a few?"

"Oh," Saitama said, swallowing. "A alien guy came down and blew an entire city up. Then there was the asteroid event wher—"

Loud gulping interrupted Saitama's sentence as Qrow began emptying his flask into his face. "Sorry, keep going. Just needed to take a drink to get my ears to accept your words."

"Oh. Ok. Yeah, even when we don't have entire cities destroyed, there are still monsters that usually blow up entire districts bef—"

"What is this! What…Qrow… you were supposed to watch him!"

Annoyed at being interrupted a second time, Saitama simply huffed and fell silent.

A legion of Atlas droids landed right outside the ruined shop, with the leader of the unit serving as a communicator for Ironwood. As more drop ships began descending off right in front of the restaurant, with soldiers moving to seal the area off from the public, Qrow gave Ironwood's carrier a condescending snort.

"And I did 'General'. While you took a nap from a light boot tap to the face, I was here watching the bald guy."

Saitama rubbed the top of his head and glared at Qrow.

"Then explain this," the carrier gestured around the the sheer destruction around the area.

"Hey," Qrow said. "You told me to watch, not intervene. So as far as I am concerned, I did my job."

The carrier clenched its robotic fists as Ironwood's anger could be heard through the deep breaths that he was taking across the communicator. "Get on the Air Shuttles. All of you."

"Wait," Saitama said, patting his full stomach. "We still have to do one more thing."

Getting up from his seat, and waving for Weiss to follow him, much to the huntress's displeasure, Saitama wandered over to where the Shopkeeper sat, starring at the massive hole in his wall.

"Ah. Sorry about your restaurant old man," Saitama said.

The old Shopkeeper looked surprisingly calm for a person who just had their livelihood reduced to rubble. "Never mind it. I'll be fine. _A Simple Wok_ has run its course I suppose, and I've been considering moving on to a better neighborhood for sometime now. With the help of the insurance money I'll be getting, I should be able to."

"Insurance money?" Saitama asked.

The Shopkeeper sighed. "I've lived long enough around places with Hunters that I've learned that things don't stay standing around them. Have to prepare for these things. Well, since you did save my life, I suppose the least I could do for you is let you have a meal on the house."

"Really? Oh, well thanks," Saitama replied. "Hey, where do you think you're going to settle down after this. I might be here for a while and your noodles are pretty good."

The Shopkeeper breathed and thought to himself. "With the security around the tournament, I think I might move over to the part of town near the Colosseum. And I'll have more vegetarian options. For the Faunus."

"Oh, alright. I suppose I will see you later then old man. Good luck."

"Yeah sure," the Shopkeeper said. "Wonder where I can hire some security for myself?"

…

 ** _Back at Beacon..._**

"…and that adds up to three hundred thousand lien, in the best case scenario. If anyone decides to press charges, the city could be responsible for much more," said Ironwood.

He was already having an unfortunate night so far, starting when a metal leg struck him in the face while he was trying to have a few moments of respite away from the havoc of the last day. Now, he was starring the results of said havoc again, only this time, it directly concerned Vale.

According to Qrow's report, if they could even call it that, Saitama and a student, Weiss Schnee, somehow managed to come across and expose a White Fang plot. All because they had the urge for a midnight snack.

Glynda sighed and shook her head. "Can you please explain how you did this much damage?"

Saitama, called up not too long ago found himself drifting away from the conversation as they recounted everything he did that night. It was only after prolonged minute of Glynda face muscle contractions that Saitama finally took notice of her.

Saitama blinked at Glynda and shrugged. "There were a lot of them, and they were pretty fragile compared to the things I usually punch, so I just pulled the pavement up and shook them off."

"Shook them off?" Glynda asked. "As in, you pulled the road off its foundations and used it to fling the White Fang off the streets?"

Saitama nodded.

"Alright, skipping the physical impossibility aspect of this question since we both remember what you did to the moon, please explain to me what you were thinking," Glynda's voice grew sharp, "when you launched dozens of White Fang across Vale, where they, or the debris that came with them, could have landed on unsuspecting civilians."

"Oh," Saitama said. "That."

"Yes," Glynda said. "That."

To be extremely honest, Saitama was used to dealing with that's that were far more destructive and dangerous than whatever collateral damage that might come from battling it. As a result, the though put into each attack is treated on a moments notice to destroy the enemy. Unfortunately, he wasn't back in his world anymore.

"Well," Saitama said as he avoided making eye contact with Glynda's piercing stare that flayed at his soul. "I am usually precise about not hurting people."

"Usually precise," Glynda said, without any emotion in her voice.

"And uh…no one got hurt," Saitama added, as he felt a pit of discomfort grow from his stomach. She just kept on looking at him, unblinking, unfeeling like the heart of a blizzard.

"No one got hurt," she said.

"Ok?" Saitama asked, as a question of his answer's adequacy.

"I am still waiting on an explanation for why you took the risks."

Saitama scratched his head and looked at the floor.

"Mr. Saitama, please return to the guest room for the night," Glynda said after a moment of silence. "We will contact you in the morning. Please don't destroy anything else until then."

"Saitama nodded, as he turned to get away from the emotionless spirit eater that was Glynda Goodwitch.

As the doors of the elevator closed, Glynda pulled off her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose.

Taking a moment to shake off the image of the clueless fool that was just before her, Glynda turned to the rest of the members of Ozpin's group. "We can call this a…emergency training course gone perfectly. Part of the new 'Extreme Readiness Project' that we need all Hunters in training to undertake that has them training in urban environments."

"That's not going to please the Council at all," Ironwood said.

"We'll worry about the public first, then the Council."

A casual sip of coffee contrasted the intensity of Ironwood and Glynda, as Ozpin finished calling in a favor to manipulate the next morning's news. "I don't understand why we are treating this matter as a problem. Though destructive and costly right now, I do believe that we have achieved a minor victory over the powers against us."

Ozpin turned around to face the others.

"Exposing the infiltration of the White Fang would have never happened if we just constrained our guest to his room, and we both know that would be impossible considering his capabilities, so…I do believe that with all that can be considered, the night ended in our favor."

"For now," Glynda said. "But what about later. What about when people start noticing him. Its not like we can hide him, everything he does draws attention to him. This was just a midnight stroll for him, imagine what would happen should ever if he ever lost his temper?"

"Remnant cracks like an egg," Qrow answered. Multiple stares locked onto him as the drunken hunter rolled his eyes. "Its not like he can't do it."

Ironwood sighed. "We are going to need multiple contingencies to deal with him. Maybe…if we keep him monitored."

Ozpin shook his head. "What we need is influence over his actions. Glynda, enter our two guests into the Academy's system."

"Headmaster?"

"In the chaos that is soon to come, we must be certain that they do not become pawns to our enemies, or adversaries to Remnant. We already have enough threats at our doors. We don't need more."

Glynda opened her scroll and hesitated. "Do you intend to integrate them with the student body?"

Ozpin revealed the barest hints of a smile. "Perhaps, but primarily, only a few in particular: they can be contained without surveillance with the proper company."

Down in the dorms, Team RWBY felt a collective chill go through their bodies. Weiss hugged her pillow tighter and had began to have nightmares of baldness to come.

…

 ** _Somewhere, in between Remnant and path beyond…_**

A dark shadow drifted across the distorted crimson flashes that were the norm within the region, its massive presence slowly shrinking as a depressed glow of a waning sun illuminated what little it could.

Smaller and smaller, did the shadow grow, yet its power remained much the same; unstoppable and unyielding, like the coming of night: inevitable.

It shrunk until only the barest hint of its original size remained, from when it first emerged from its cocoon in the void above, reawakened from years of slumber to return.

Return to the land of its inception, to come back and find her.

Sniffing the air and snapping its maw, it sought her, wondering if she was still here at all.

Then, the melody that it heard over millennia ago came over it. Her voice was still the same.

A dark bolt split through warped, blackened rock with veins that leaked crimson and purple, while the plants around found themselves taking more than just water into their bodies as cysts of red and black pulsed off their sides.

Getting ever closer to that opening where she always sat, the shadow felt the dullness inside its soulless existence lift momentarily as it found her, still siting on the same old rickety chair made from a tree that still burns elsewhere, unending.

And just like millennia ago, she sat there, humming that same old tune with her ethereal voice that danced across the hollow whispers in the wind, while she sewed with a needle of darkest red and a strand of her own blood.

A graceful smile came across her face as it laid its head down before her, waiting, listening.

"You're awake. A bit earlier than I anticipated, but who am I to complain."

Reaching over with her nails slowly digging into one of its eyes, pushed until her pale skin sank into its darkness and she began to draw something out from within it.

A few droplets of purest darkness dripped down her strand as she patted it on the head. "Thank you, dear. Now, go on, it won't do you any good to be here along. Wake the rest of them, and lead them back to me. We have so very much to do."

A massive shadow reappeared in the sky and bounded off for the distant horizon beyond the dead place it was in, leaving her alone to work and sew, just like it had so many years before.

The only difference: she is almost done.

 ** _Author's Note: Well, now that the opening is done, this train can get-a-rolling. So far, things are as dandy as a napalm applied to a beehive away from your house: at least you aren't affected, but soon, the sunshine's got to go away for a while, and that's when the darkness comes. Wonder who's going to be able to stop them from succeeding. So, as this little ride progresses into the mouth, punching the undies off ancient horrors, feel free to rant, review, and suggest stuff to feed this little engine._**

 ** _Thanks for reading so far… more to come._**


	6. Class Time

_**Author's Note: 这俩幻想世界**_ ** _知识产权不属于我。别杀我。_**

 **Class Time**

"I got the last piece back in place, how does it look?" Saitama said, leaping in through the window shattered by the stray limb.

Ozpin blinked and looked out at the 'repaired' landscape before him. Mismatched plots of land of desert, snow, and autumn varieties along with crooked trees were stitched back together with the shattered land beneath it. Though the crater was no longer evident, it still looked like someone decided to duct tape several geographical biomes and stick a few trees into said biomes before just declaring it a forest.

"It will do for today's class," Ozpin said. "Professor Goodwitch, please proceed to get the students ready for their out door session."

Glynda sighed as she turned to look at the headmaster. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Ozpin sipped his coffee. "Hunters must be adaptable."

"Indeed," Glynda agreed, "who knows when our world will be beset by Grimm that can shatter a forest and then plant several other different pieces of land back to replace that parts that were destroyed."

Saitama scratched his head while averting his eyes from Glynda's glare.

With a click of her heels, she turned to leave the room, not another word spoken, nor another glare given. The time for petty grievances was over, class was in session.

And besides, she had been waiting to demonstrate the variables of fighting in different environment.

As the elevator opened, Qrow stumbled out face towards the ceiling the contents of his flask running down his chin. Glynda barely spared him a disgusted curl of the lip before she walked into the elevator and descended.

Saitama starred at the door as it closed.

"If its any consolation," Qrow said, "she's probably less annoyed with you than she is with me or Ironwood. Just give her time. Her hate will realign itself."

"That sounds kind of unhealthy," Saitama replied.

"Annoyance is source of her magic," Qrow said sardonically. "Well. Either that or cleavage. She has both in great abundance."

Ozpin cleared his voice. "I appreciate the…effort you put into fixing the Forever Fall."

Saitama nodded. "Yeah. It was no big deal. I did sort of break it unintentionally when I first got here."

"Indeed, but when I called for you earlier today," Ozpin said, "there was something else I had in mind."

"Okay."

"How would you like to be a temporary instructor at Beacon?"

A geyser of alcohol and some bile exploded out Qrow's mouth, refilling his flask and shocking him to the core. "What!"

"What?" Saitama agreed with him.

"Yes," Ozpin continued. "The students already know of your existence, and the media has caught a glimpse of your form, though not your person. I have little doubt that in the coming days, your identify will be discovered by the public. When they do so, would you rather they see you as anomalous invader who caused an accident…or an instructor who was demonstrating something to his students."

"Ozpin," Qrow said, eye twitching, "can we talk."

"Later," Ozpin replied, hearing the gnashing of Qrow's teeth. "Regardless, the choice is yours Saitama. I will not force a guest, but I can certainly will help them."

Saitama blinked at Ozpin and looked back at Qrow, who was maintaining a horrified expression as he imagined Saitama running a class.

"But…what would I even teach?" Saitama asked. "I don't really know much about your world, or how your science works."

Ozpin put his mug down. "Well…the students at Beacon should always expect the unexpected. How would you like to show the students some abnormal combat scenarios?"

"Oz!" Qrow grumbled. "This is insane. No offense baldy."

Saitama frowned. "I don't see what my lack of hair has to do with this."

"And accounting to Saitama's unfamiliarity with the school system, I have decided that for the time he is a guest instructor, you will be his assistant instructor."

"No." Qrow answered simply. "We still have a threat looming ou—"

"If you don't take the job it goes to Ironwoo—"

"I'll take it!"

The room froze as Ozpin leaned back in his seat and took another drink from his coffee while Qrow's face flooded with horror as he began to comprehend what he was goaded into agreeing too.

"That was dirty," Qrow said. "That's something I would have done."

"Indeed," Ozpin replied. "But since the matter is now settled, I believe that you two have a class to prepare for. Your first session has been schedule for this afternoon at one."

Qrow frowned. "Its already schedule-You've planned this didn't you."

Ozpin turned on his scroll again. "I believe you two have more pressing matters than theorizing about what I did or did not plan."

Qrow dragged the palm of his hand across his face as he turned to face Saitama. Opening and closing his mouth several times, Qrow's words failed him as he shook his head and waved for Saitama to follow him.

As the twosome watched the elevator doors close, Ozpin gave them the barest hints of a smile, waving as he disappeared.

"Bald—Saitama," Qrow sighed.

"Yes?"

"Have you ever taught a class before? I heard the machine-boy call you master or something."

"Yeah, that…" Saitama said. "He kind of just decided that I was his master."

"So you didn't agree?"

"Not until he told me he would pay rent."

Qrow felt something in him break. "Well…at least you won't be disappointed by the pay."

Reopening his flask, Qrow looked at the spat out liquids. He shrugged and downed it again.

…

"Can anyone tell me how the Faunus managed to break the siege of Winterwall? Anyone? Anyone? Perhaps you would like to say something Miss Rose?"

A tired yawn preceded frantic blinking of two exhausted eyes, surrounded by dark circles and left empty of focus. "Uh...ah. Winterwha-huh? Well, uh…so…because…the Grimm-"

"Winterwall, Ms. Rose. Perhaps this can be a lesson for you to rest a bit earlier. What were the results of the Clash atop the Ashen Bridge? Anyone? Miss Schnee?"

Soft snores were the only answer as the Oobleck stared at Weiss, who was sound asleep with her face down on a pack of ice for her many bruises. Oobleck sighed as he turned to address his class again.

"I see that no one is in the condition to listen to class today. Is there an event that I am perhaps uncertain about? Something that the faculty is not informed of? Is it a time of wild, reckless youthful revels and gleeful rebellion against the administration?"

No one had the strength to respond.

Well, almost no one.

A steel arm shot up and took the initiative to answer all the questions before Oobleck could respond. "Winterwall was won when the Faunus melted the gates of their own keep, flooding the valley down below and drowning approximately thirty thousand Mantle warriors that were previously poised to win the battle."

"Yes…that is indee—"

"And the Ashen Bridge was the worst massacre in the war. While crossing the Ashen Bridge to escape a vastly superior force, General Tusk lead what remained of the Adamantine Fang along with a vast contingent of noncombatants to bypass into Northern Vacuo. They were betrayed and then assaulted from both sides. Those who survived the slaughter were believed to be the founding members of the White Fang."

"…I do not believe that I have seen you in my class before," Oobleck said.

"My name is Genos," Genos's said, wielding pen upon paper. "I have recently arrived in this world."

"Ah," Oobleck answered as he recalled the events of the last two days. "I see.

Oobleck breathed deeply as the one individual who did not really belong in his class seemed to be the only one in condition to learn. "Alright then. Turn your scrolls to page 53—"

The stiff metal hand shot up again. "Professor! I believe that the introduction to chapter 5 has a better illustration to turning point in the Faunus war."

It was at this moment that Oobleck began to have flashbacks to points in his life that were familiar in scene to what Genos was doing. The only difference was that it was Oobleck holding his hand up and giving the recommendation rather than someone else.

On the one had, he really appreciated the dedication to learning.

On the other hand, he really wanted to boot Genos in the face.

Oobleck shook his head and sighed. Was he this annoying to other people when he was young?

A solid thump echoed through the center of the class. "I'm in a nightmare," Cardin Winchester grumbled, with his head down on his desk. "Our moon gets broken, we don't get any sleep, and one of the guys doing all that to us just happens to be giant metal nerd, and worst of all there are still Faunus in this class."

Without even bringing his head up, Cardin reached over the seat below his and plucked a hair off the mane of the goat Faunus who was sitting there.

A few rows back, glowing eyes of power found their sights on the back of Cardin Winchester's head. They could not cause trouble for the school openly, Genos knew that, but should no one see him in the act…

Yes. It was underhanded, but justice…justice is blind.

It also had a ridiculously powerful core.

…

"So there are forty teams that have been 'volunteered' for this 'class'," Qrow said, sharing his scroll with Saitama. "If you don't break anything and I don't pass out in the middle of the afternoon around the time I typically do, we should keep the student death count to a minimum."

"Hey," Saitama said, annoyed. "You say that like I'm going to let anything bad happen to the kids."

"It doesn't matter if you want anything good or bad to happen to the kids, its going to happen."

Saitama gave Qrow as strange look. "Why?"

"Because I have effectively known you for two and a half days, and in those two and a half days, I counted only three hours where I knew everyone was safe. I know it was three hours because I spent that time blacked out drunk in the courtyard after what you and your friend did the statue, and I knew everyone was safe because I didn't wake up to a post-apocalyptic nightmare"

Saitama frowned. "I already apologized for the statue."

Qrow shrugged. "You didn't need to. I thought your remake was better anyway."

"You do?"

Qrow chuckled. "Least it wasn't as boring to look at. And it nearly gave Ironwood an aneurysm which is always good in my boo—speak of the devil."

With the doors to the tower barred open, Ironwood wandered in with mechs on both sides, eyes narrowing as he saw Qrow and Saitama walking in tandem. They narrowed some more when he saw the grin on Qrow's face.

"Sorry," Qrow said. "I'd love to stay and chat for a bit but we have to go. Can't be late for class. Come along instructor, we have work to do."

Ironwood held a confused expression that slowly broke down into one of sheer terror. "What? Wait…no…no…"

Walking past Ironwood without another word, Qrow held his smirk as he turned to Saitama.

"Wait for it."

Saitama was confused. "Wait for what?"

"Three…two…one…"

As if on cue, Ironwood's footsteps turned into a mad sprint towards the elevator.

"Ahhh," Qrow sighed. "Almost makes this class thing worth it. Almost."

Saitama kept on walking. "I wonder how Genos is doing."

…

Cardin howled, covering the top of his skull as he winced in pain. Looking around with wild eyes and quivering lips, Cardin shook with rage and indignity in his seat.

"Mr. Winchester," Oobleck sighed. "What seems to be the problem this time."

Cardin removed his hands that were shielding the top of his head to reveal a raw, red patch that used to be covered with hair. Around it were several other patches that were in similar condition. "Someone…is doing this to me."

Oobleck tilted his head at Winchester as muffled laughter floated through the classroom at the expense of Cardin. Oobleck knew that some unacceptable shenanigans were going on behind his back from the moment he felt the subtle gusts of air brush on the back of his neck. He also had a decent guess regarding who was committing all these "crimes".

"Mr. Genos," Oobleck said. "You arms appear to be smoking."

Genos did not bother to look up. "They do that sometimes. I believe we are on military reasons relating why Mantle collapsed."

"Yes we were. Thank you for getting us back on track. But…do try to keep the smoldering of your limbs to a minimum."

Genos nodded. "I will make an effort."

A few rows to the front, Ruby shook with mirth as she watched Cardin shield his newly gained Mohawk from further humiliation.

"Well," Yang said. "When you friend isn't helping to ruin everyone's sleep, he can be pretty awesome."

"Pretty? He like, a super-cyborg robot!" Ruby said while moving her hands excitedly. "You should have seen him. He had like, rocket missile arms that made him go super-fast!"

Yang laughed as she reached over to ruffle Ruby's hair. "Sure he did. Didn't know you liked your boys shiny and full of raw justice!"

Yang made sure to clench her fist and shake her jaw extra hard to emphasize the last few words.

"Wha—Yang! Idonot! Boys—boysaregross!"

…

"Oz," Qrow grumbled as the headmaster's face appeared on his scroll. "The class registration is glitching."

"How so?"

"It has team RWBY listed here as one of the teams registered for this class, and I can't seem to remove them."

"That's because I put them there."

Qrow glared. "Excuse me."

"Considering the activities that RWBY has been conducting over the course of the school year, I believed it would be beneficial for them to learn how unpredictable the battlefield really is."

"Oz," Qrow growled.

"Oh dear," Ozpin said without changing tone as he began to blink on Qrow's screen. "It seems that maintenance for the CCTS has begun earlier than I thought."

Qrow glowered at the blinking image of Ozpin. "A month earlier?"

The blinking stopped for an instant. "Odd," said Ozpin. "isn't it."

The call then disconnected.

"So what is this place called again?" Saitama asked, standing in the on top of a podium set up on the central ring.

Qrow looked up from the seats below. "Guan Yu Arena. Named after some guy with a large blade on a stick. Killed lots of Grimm, then got killed by lots of Grimm. Donated lots of money before dying though."

Saitama nodded as he walked around the ring. The room was large, with multiple rings to house sparring sessions and the like. He could see a large screen behind him while seats ran all around the rings. The place was build like a stadium on the inside, like a school of knights or gladiators.

Saitama felt an odd sensation of wonder come over him.

"Heroes aren't just born here. They are made: you make your heroes."

With a leap, Qrow landed beside him in the ring. "Well we didn't really have a choice in that matter. And don't confuse a Hunter for a hero. Most don't deserve that title"

For an instant, Saitama realized it: the bitterness. He felt it in Qrow's voice, watched it every time Qrow drank, and in his eyes when it wasn't muddled.

"If uh..Wei—Wei...Weiss," Saitama said, struggling to remember Weiss's first name, "is any indication of what the students are like, then I would say you are over-estimating."

Qrow snorted, bringing his flask up to his lips. "She's just a spoiled heiress. Come to rebel against daddy, and be her own boss. That's it."

"Then why did she stay and fight? Why did she order me to stay away while she fought on her own?"

"Stupidity," Qrow answered. "Foolishness."

"Bravery," Saitama added.

"Not much difference there," Qrow said.

Saitama shook his head. "Stupidity is choosing to be weak. Bravery is choosing not to be a victim."

"Oum," Qrow gave a mocking laugh. "Didn't take you for an idealist."

"Not idealist. Just a hero for hobby." Light shone off his bald head and his cape fluttered triumphantly. Qrow briefly found himself flashing back to the heroic Hunters in his childhood, their forms flashing across the screen. He then reminded himself they weren't bald moon breaking abominations.

"Heh," Qrow laughed again, less mockingly this time. "You keep that up and everyone will know you're not from around her—"

Qrow's scroll began beeping as his timer went off; footsteps were heard.

"Eh…Qrow?" Saitama asked. "Do you have any idea what we're supposed to do with the students? Maybe a lesson plan?"

Qrow took a long swig from his flask. "Nope."

As the doors to the arena opened, and students began walking in, Saitama tried holding a stance. Putting his arms behind his back, then shifting them to his hips, before giving up and just holding them to his sides normally, Saitama prepared to become a instructor for the first time.

"Remember," Qrow muttered. "RWBY: do not hurt."

From beyond the outside light, the students walked in, most grumbling about being forced into a "special series" of classes without warning. Complaining, chatting, and wandering to their seats distracted by friends and scrolls, the students failed noticed the two who were standing on the central ring.

Then, Genos walked in.

"Master?"

This simple exclamation quickly caused a series of effects. First it caused students too look at Genos. Then the looked at the stage. Then they saw Saitama, and the Qrow standing next to him. Then panic began to spread.

"Blake," Weiss said with a distant look in her eyes.

Blake put down her book and looked at her friend. "Yes?"

"You know that book you always read? The Silent Towns book?"

Blake nodded.

"I think I know how the main character feels now," Weiss said. "My nightmares and reality have become one."

The rest of student body did not react much better as they began eyeing the exists, and making escape plans.

"Alright," Qrow called out. "Settle down. Lets gets this day over with."

"Uncle Qrow?" Ruby asked.

"Ozpin must've promised him a year's worth of booze lien for him to do this," Yang theorized.

"You too Ironboy," Qrow continued pointing at Genos. He found a seat next Cardin, who all but flipped over Russel to get away.

"Alright," Qrow slurred as the bright lights of the class room immediately began giving him a migraine. "As you all may know this class, listed as _Abnormal Combat Scenarios_ , has recently been added much to all our collective misery."

Qrow continued on, unaware of the snake lurking among his students.

Amber irises seemed to trap the form of Genos within them as Cinder slid up to her target. With steps that resembled the slithering of a snake, Cinder crept up next to the cybernetic hero and sat down to him nonchalantly.

"Hmm," Cinder said, initiating the conversation. "Surprising meeting you here."

Genos turned to give her an emotionless glare. "You know that to be untrue, considering your efforts yesterday evening to get me to integrate with the student population."

"Perhaps. But I was merely trying to pique your interest. I made no demand, and therefore had no idea if you were going to appear."

Genos narrowed his eyes. "…Why are you so interested in my presence?"

"We all are," Cinder said as Qrow shook his head and continued declaring his hatred for teaching. "I merely possess more boldness than the average student. If they expressed their intent, you would have had a class to yourself today as well."

Cinder smirked. "That would have been a far more interesting class than this."

"Ms. Tremaine—"

"Ella," Cinder said. "I prefer Ella."

Genos studied her for a moment. "Very well…Ella. What do you wish to obtain from me?

Propping her head on her hands, Cinder put on an amused expression. "Friendship."

Genos was no stranger to fan clubs and adoration from fans that sought his attention and approval almost constantly. Cinder, on the other hand, reminded Genos a lot more of Sweet Mask: cold, calculating, and with much of their true self hidden beneath an affable exterior.

"I believe that we have much to offer each other," Cinder continued. "And should you be wise enough to combine your power with my influence, we can do great things together—"

"You," Qrow said, pointing to Cinder. "Chest straps."

Cinder froze, turning to look up at Qrow as her fists clenched together in anticipation of him recognizing her and a fight to come. However, with the glaring light in his eyes recognition never came.

"Run twenty laps," Saitama interjected before Qrow could say anything.

"What." Qrow said.

"What?" Cinder gasped.

"Twenty laps," Saitama said. "Yeah. Talking while an instructor is talking is disrespectful. So…just run it."

"You heard him," Qrow said. "Run ten laps."

Cinder looked down at the floor and back up at the two "instructors". No one has ever ordered her before, and Cinder felt a cold fury like no other swell up in her chest. They thought they had power over her, they thought they could control her.

She slowly got out of her seat as Mercury and Emerald nodded to her, ready to follow her lead no matter what. Cinder glared at Saitama and Qrow.

Then she began running around the arena.

Their plan could not be jeopardized by meaningless vengeance.

Periods of silence punctuated by Cinder's running flooded the room as all eyes fell upon Saitama. The hero who had faced unimaginable threats, innumerable foes, and world breaking events felt an odd void grow in his stomach.

He felt anxiety.

"So…uh," Jaune raised his hand.

Qrow looked at the blond student and then back at Saitama. "We could pretend not to notice him."

Saitama's eye twitched as he decided on his course of action. "Yes, you there with the hair."

"So…" Jaune asked. "Just how did you get so strong."

The void in Saitama's stomach exploded as he gave Qrow a blank look, which only got him a shrug in reply.

"I'm curious too," Qrow said.

Saitama swallowed as he looked down, students watching him, judging him. This was an odd sensation; he didn't care back in the city when people blamed him, so why would he with a roomful of kids.

Maybe it was because Genos was there too, looking up to him in more ways than one.

Saitama fought the void.

"To get stronger—strength—willpower—" Saitama began to sweat; the only way he even found the first words of encouragement to offer Genos were stolen from a manga that he was reading. It wasn't like he had some special wisdom for his strength, its just that he was so committed to his exercise routine that his hair fell out.

"Power—" Saitama said. "Is like…like…" Swallowing deeply, Saitama looked around the room for any amount of inspiration to liberate him from the predicament that currently plagued him.

Diving into his own memories, Saitama tried to recall something, anything to say to the students. Then, for no particular reason beyond reality hating bald people, Saitama recalled a certain thing that Qrow said about Glynda, earlier in the day.

"Power is like cleavage," Saitama answered, too quickly for him to take his words back.

The effect was almost instant as the room was overcome with silence, as an expression of pure horror grew over Qrow's face.

"Doesn't that make you the strongest here?" Ruby asked Yang.

Genos immediately pulled out his pen and notebook.

"Cleavage," Saitama continued, as Genos wrote furiously in his dairy, taking down every word Saitama had to say verbatim for research later, "is power. Because—you don't know… how deep it goes. When you begin training, in school and battle, you must understand that it is not the cleavage of the body that matters, but the cleavage of the mind!"

"Woah," Nora whispered, "that's really deep."

"Without this cleavage, that represents the unknown, that holds much of your true potential in the dark, hidden by the size of your chest which symbolizes the darkness and threats that will try to stop you from knowing the full depth of your cleavage!"

Holding up his clenched fist before the entire class, Saitama felt a few beads of sweat trickle down his face as he stood their, still like a rock, ashamed and horrified at all that he said.

"Would…assistant instructor Qrow like to add a few words?"

The horror on Qrow's face became an expression of betrayal as Saitama effective threw him under the metaphorical Ursa. As all eyes in the classroom shifted towards him, Qrow felt his alcohol begin to escape upwards towards his mouth.

"Cleavage—is like aura," Qrow started. "Its exists because if your chest was to be laid bare—urph" Qrow held his hand up to his mouth. "-laid bear then your foes would know the extent of your power."

"Indeed," Saitama assisted. "In this class, you will learn to wield your cleavage to its maximum potential."

"And turn the darkness that covers it…against the Grimm." Qrow continued.

"With cleavage, you will understand that the greatest enemy is…in yourself!"

"And by defeating you're the evil of your cleavage shadow," Qrow added. "You gain more!"

Saitama clenched his fist again. "If there is one thing to understand at all, it is that if you are willing to train, you will never know the limits of your cleavage. You will never know the limits of your power!"

Huntsman and Hero stood on the stage, starring at each other, shocked by the garbage they had just come up with as the class looked on, slacked jawed and silent.

Then, a single set of hands began to clap furiously.

"Cleavage!" Nora roared. "I knew it. Ren, we're getting chest padding tonight."

Ren simply shook his head and clapped along, mistakenly assuming there was a deeper meaning to the incredibly odd speech that was just delivered to the class.

More and more hands joined in as the pressure in the room broke. Soon, the students were all standing and clapping in unison, all rendered unaware of the shocked expression that was overcoming their instructors' faces due to the brightness of the lights.

"Saitama," Qrow said. "Never quote me on anything ever again."

Meanwhile, Cinder kept on running.

…

 _ **Back in City-Z**_

 _ **HERO HQ…**_

"This is bad! Its been days and Demon Cyborg still hasn't been located. S-Class heroes cannot go missing! The morale damage it could do alone—"

"I know, which is why Metal Knight is currently rebuilding the broken portal."

A profound silence overcame all within the meeting chamber as Chairman Agoni of the Hero Association declared his intentions.

"Sir," the bearded worker, who served so vigilantly without anyone ever remembering his name, said, "I know that Genos…Demon Cyborg is one of our most popular S-Class heroes, but is he truly worth the risk? We know nothing about the Martian technology used to invade us, we could we risking another invasion by reactivating the portal—"

"Indeed," Agoni interrupted. "But what we stand to gain is much greater than a possible invasion. We have beaten the Mars Beasts once; this tells me it is achievable again. However, their technology, just left rotting in broken fragments is unacceptable. We will not surrender the advantage to future adversaries, nor will we relinquish any our defenders, be they S or B in class."

Agoni slammed his fist hard down on the desk. "We have been fighting a defensive battle for far too long, losing entire cities and civilians to the horrors of our world and beyond it. Now, its time to see what waits beyond our world. Let us seek out our adversaries. No more will we be victims!"

The spell of silence across the room was broken as a chorus of agreements bellowed out from all corners of the room.

"Alright," Agoni declared. "So it is settled. Let us find our missing heroes, living or dead, and in doing so, master our enemies' technologies. It is time for phase two: operation Total Offensive is go!"

Elsewhere, Glynda Goodwitch cringed at something terribly named.

…

 _ **So our heroes find themselves in an odd position. One a teacher, the other a student, both strangers in a strange land that might be seeing more strangers in the near future. Meanwhile, Salem is doing lord knows what as the Grimm released from the moon looms over the land. The next few chapters will be quite interesting as some settle in, and a few others fall out of, their designated positions.**_

 _ **Oh, and punching. Lots of punching.**_

 _ **So anyway, if a rabid wolverine hasn't invaded your room with intent to kill or if a weird cat thing hasn't screwed you into giving it your soul for a wish by this point, feel free to comment, curse, wonder, like, or even print out and set this thing on fire.**_

 _ **But seriously though…don't do deals with weird cat things. They don't care about your feelings.**_


	7. Anarchy Syllabus

_**Disclaimer: I not own thing one sue don't not please. Cry I or.**_

Anarchy Syllabus

It was on her fourteenth lap that Cinder began to really contemplate killing Saitama. Though unrealistic, the thought of slowly immolating the flesh of the bald idiot was soothing to her soul.

With each step she took, the deeper she sunk in her murderous fantasies, her imaginary fury calming her nerves in reality. Before long, her laps were finished, and she slowly wandered back to her seat.

As she approached she could hear clapping, and distant cries for cleavage.

She must have misheard.

"So," Cinder said, straightening her hair as she wandered back over to Genos, "what do you thing about my offer of—"

"Forty more," Qrow said.

"What?"

"You run right back, and immediately start talking to chrome boy again. I mean, I'll admit that he's pretty shiny and looks like the offspring spawned from an entire boy band and a assembly line, but indulging in appropriate fetishes is not good use of clas—oh why the hell do I even explain myself to you. Forty laps."

Cinder clenched and unclenched her fists several times in quick succession. Outside, a bush caught fire and began to spread. Breathing out through her mouth and in through her nose, Cinder quelled the inferno rising from within her and swore that she would melt Qrow's foolish face off if it was the last thing she did.

As the clopping of Cinder's footsteps filled the room, Saitama slowly slid up next to Qrow with a supremely uncomfortable expression. "So, what do we do now?"

"How on Remnant am I supposed to know," Qrow said shrugging while chugging down alcohol.

"Hey, are you sure you should be drinking in front of the kids?"

"Are you sure we should have given a full speech about cleavage and power being the same thing? Probably not. Well, too late for that."

Indeed, it was far too late to take that back, but despite the clapping that came from the students, it was not built on a foundation of absolute sincerity.

Much like a cat being offered a fish for free, Blake felt a sense of suspiciousness, like something about the speech just didn't fit right; it was all just too fishy. Perhaps it was the unbelievably silly and lewd content used in a traditionally motivational format.

"Weiss?" Blake asked, as her hands came together with lessening intensity with every subsequent clap.

Weiss on the other hand, was sarcastically making clapping noises with her mouth, hands barely touching each other as they parted. "Yes."

"Why are you even clapping?"

"Why are _you_ clapping? Its not like you bought the speech?"

"No, but I do appreciate the effort of it all," Blake said, giving the obviously confused Saitama and inebriated Qrow a glance. "At least they tried."

"Hmmph. I came to Beacon for a quality education, for proper training in how to conduct myself in being a Huntress. What I got is… is this."

In stark contrast to Weiss's unflattering remarks, Yang was having a blast. "Well, that's one of someone telling me I have potential. Though looking back, but more obviously downwards—"

"Yang!" Ruby cried appalled at her sister starring down her own cleavage.

"—It was obvious that I, like you said dear sis, was to be the strongest of us all."

Hearing Yang's boast, and taking it for a serious challenge, Nora stood up with a massive grin. "Just you wait! I'm going to show you that the cleavage within is what really matters! But my cleavage outside is pretty good too! Right Ren?"

Ren just kept on clapping for the sake of Nora, ignoring the blush that slowly spread over his own face. "Sure."

"See, if Ren agrees, I must be right!"

It was at this moment, a very important and interesting question struck Jaune. "Uh—so guys have internal cleavage too huh?"

Everyone around Jaune stopped clapping for an instant and turned to look at him. Ruby looked down at the floor, trying to come up with answer, but she, like those around her either failed to find it within themselves to care or answer.

However, there was one beyond their group that was more than willing to assist in this conundrum.

"Jaune," Genos said appearing before Jaune with a few sudden steps, with his notebook in his hands and intensity in his eyes, "I too find difficultly in fully comprehending master's wisdom, but I will share with you what knowledge I can give on cleavage."

As Genos squeezed in between Pyrrha and Juane, much to her displeasure and his discomfort, the cybernetic youth held out the numerous drawings he made of different forms of cleavage and chests.

"Is that mine on there?" Yang asked looking at a familiar sight that she saw just a few seconds ago.

"Yes," Genos said without hesitantion. "At first, I was confused, and thought 'why cleavage'? But then, it occurred to me if cleavage could metaphorically be referred to as a store for potential—"

"He's actually taking this seriously," Weiss groaned.

"—then cleavage might literally mean having enough room in your heart to hold your determination and power."

Furiously flipping to a page with multiple diagrams of normal cleavage, then onto a few with protruding cybernetic chest plates Genos pointed to the designs.

"That's…really well drawn," Jaune said, uncomfortably as he found his eyes magnetized towards one diagram in particular. Beside him, Pyrrha's cheeks began to match her hair.

Unaware of the sexual tension that he was treading upon, Genos continued. "Indeed. I noticed that you find this diagram most appealing."

"Well—I uh—"

"It is completely understandable, and in fact, wise."

"Oh come on," Yang said, offended. "We all know that my 'potential' is better than that."

"Yang!" Ruby squealed.

Pyrrha looked more like a tomato by this point.

Ignoring the protests going on all around him, Genos proceeded in Jaune's education in cleavage. "These dimensions," Genos's metal fingers drifted across the diagram, causing Jaune to swallow hard and begin shaking, "hold the perfect dimensions for a new core design."

"What?" Jaune said.

"Yes…I can't believe that it took me so long to notice, master is truly wise. He has been hinting at my lack of cleavage—my lack of true power—for so long! This must be his way of saying that I need a superior core."

In a frenzied scribble Genos sketched out multiple designs and models for his new chest piece. Standing up with a hurried "thank you" to Jaune for assisting him, Genos dashed and leaped onto the stage where Saitama was conversing with Qrow about what to do next.

"Master," Genos said ecstatic, "I finally realize what you have been trying to teach you."

Saitama blinked. "What have I been trying to…uh?"

Ecstatically nodding, Genos clenched his fist. "Don't worry master, my 'cleavage' will be greater than ever when I finish my modifications."

And then, without anther word, Genos leapt off the ring and ploughed right through the door, speeding past a miserable Cinder along the way.

Saitama studied the door that Genos just ran through intently, like it was going to educate him on how to proceed with his class. "Should we count that as skipping class."

Qrow shrugged. "Well, it doesn't really count as skipping when you aren't even registered as part of the class."

Saitama sighed. "Well, there is still the rest of them."

The class, long since done with the clapping now starred blankly at Saitama and Qrow. It was an uncomfortable silence. Then, an equally uncomfortable smile grew across Qrow's face.

"Kids, how much combat experience have you had?"

Weiss eagerly raised her hand.

"Put that down Schnee, it was a rhetorical question."

Weiss eagerly imagined crushing Qrow in her hands.

"The answer…is that you all have none."

A series of protests arose from multiple students across the class, claims of combat style mastery and tales of battles won were drawn out of the mouths of several students.

Qrow smirked.

"I didn't ask you if you knew how to fight, I asked you about combat experience."

Weiss rolled her eyes and threw up her arms. "What's the difference!"

"The difference," Qrow said with a sharp tone, "is this question: have you ever forced your blade into the flesh of a begging opponent as he called out for mercy?"

The class quieted.

"Have you ever watched the light of life fade from another's eyes, with fire and carnage all around you, and watched the eyes of the Grimm slowly spread across the once dark horizon?

Qrow watched the faces of the students, now expressionless and struck by the severity of his words and tone.

"Honestly, I don't think this class should be called abnormal combat scenarios. Because fighting is always unusual, and you never know what you have to do to win. So…for at least until the end of this semester, me and your head lecturer here—

Saitama waved.

"will be putting some much needed chaos in your life."

Teammates looked at each other, feeling a certain dread arising from the pits of their stomachs. They were to become Hunters and Huntresses, and were no stranger to combat, but this sounded different.

This sounded like warfare.

"Hey," Qrow said bumping his arm against Saitama's chest. "You wanna have some fun with the kids."

An uncomfortable expression appeared over Saitama face. "That sounds wrong."

"Then don't take it the wrong way. So, what if you chase after the kids and with your hands—"

"It sounds even worse now!"

"Tag," Qrow grunted, annoyed at being interrupted. "You play tag with them."

Saitama looked at him blankly.

"Now usually I wouldn't even think of suggesting this, but you're the game changer her—"

The blank expression continued on Saitama's face. "You want me to chase the kids and show them the hopelessness in battle don't you."

Qrow stopped mid sentence. "How did you—you've done this before haven't you?"

"Yeah," Saitama admitted. "Genos demanded that I show him 'the meaning of despair so that he understand the mysteries of power'."

Qrow chuckled. "Chrome-boy is just full of enthusiasm huh. Alright, so that's the plan then."

"Wait—" Saitama grunted out, trying to warn Qrow that the last time he played tag he might have displaced a mountain range by a few kilometers.

"Class," Qrow said over Saitama's warning, "since its just our first day, lets do something easy."

A mixed reception came from the students. Some deflated at the lack of challenge to accompany Qrow's words, others perked up at a simple day.

Qrow smiled. "A game of tag—"

Groans emerged from all corners of the room, which were then silenced by Qrow pulling out his blade and firing the shotgun into the air a few times.

"I wasn't done. A game of tag with your head lecturer. Consider it an opportunity to get to know your teacher better."

The entire class quickly went pale, save for a select few. This was a man that they just recently saw break, and then shatter an entire part of their moon. That monster was going to play tag with them.

"Crap," whimpered Jaune.

"Crap yes!" Nora squealed.

"Hey this might not be the best idea," Saitama mumbled to Qrow under his breath. "I broke a mountain the last time—"

"Go at ten percent—"Qrow said.

"I was going at ten percent!"

Qrow blinked. "Go at ten percent of your ten percent. But know this," Qrow said, leaning in dangerously near Saitama's face. "If you get Ruby, Yang, that cat-girl, or even Winter-lite hurt…"

Qrow struggled for a few moments to find an effective threat against someone who was virtually invulnerable before giving up.

"…well, just don't."

Saitama sighed. "Okay."

Drawing his blade in an instant, Qrow pointed it at the class, who froze at the sight of the blade pointing towards them. "Got to be faster than that if you kids want to win. When I raise my scythe—"

"It looks like a swor—" Saitama tried to say.

"Scythe, get ready to run."

It was at this moment that Cardin realized that he made a terrible mistake in picking the front row.

Russel whimpered.

"So…uh," Jaune said. "How do we succeed at this exercise."

"Just make it to the statue. don't let your lecturer get you," Qrow answered. "Simple. Easy."

Qrow was a horrible liar.

…

"Have you gone completely mad!"

The casual sip of coffee right after that statement enraged Ironwood even more. "What possessed you to—he isn't qualified!"

Ozpin hummed. "No. He is not qualified in any way shape or form. You are right."

"…If you know that, why did you put him in charge of students—my students as well! We have no idea how he might react-e barely know him; he's done more damage to Remnant in the last two days than all the kingdoms combined in all their years of war!"

Ozpin nodded. "Exactly."

"What?"

"Our guest is certainly a possible risk for the students, and a living physical impossibility beyond our, and possibly anyone else's comprehension. However, there is a certainty in the power he possesses."

"What certainty?"

Breathing out and standing up, Ozpin moved away from his desk and beckoned Ironwood to follow him. Starring out out into the horizon from the window, Ozpin pointed out at the Forever Fall, its broken form reformed through a terrible stich job. "What do you see out there."

"A mess."

"Yes," Ozpin replied, "but what are the implications of this mess."

Ironwood narrowed his eyes. His military training and years of combat as a Huntsman screamed at him from within: danger and ruin. "That he holds the power to end us all. And that the aforementioned person with the power to end us all is currently in a room with our students!"

"Potential for danger does exist, but it is not a certainty. Look beyond the eyes of a soldier: he cannot be a spy for his presence is now far too obvious. He cannot be an enemy because he would have broken us already. He cannot be a mere brute as he ended his own path of destruction without anyone stopping him. He actively refers to himself as a hero. What does this sound like to you?"

Ironwood swallowed hard. He knew what Ozpin was trying to convince him of, but it was just too hard to accept. "He possesses too much power and wields it like a child!"

"The power to destroy is not the same at the intention to. And you didn't answer my question: what does he sound like to you."

"Oz, the risks—"

"What are Hunters supposed to be for the people of Remnant?"

Ironwood sighed. "A guardian. Is that what you wanted me to say."

"Its what I want you to understand."

It was in that instant that Ozpin saw that rare expression overcome Ironwood's face, and weakness invaded his composure. "I-we can't protect from him. We can't even protect the students from him."

Understanding his friends plight, Ozpin reached out and placed his hand on Ironwood's shoulder. "They are going to be Hunters, James. Death and destruction will become their closest companion, and eventually, the last thing they know before the light in the them fades before despair. It is the fate in our choice to become defenders."

Ironwood sighed. "I know that. I know that better than most. But that still doesn't justify placing him as a lecturer. They should at least get a few moments of safety. To grow."

"We need him," Ozpin said simply. "We need him because his presence has swept the pieces off the board. He isn't a lecturer on a whim; the game has changed because his very presence, and if I can't predict him…"

"…Then they probably can't either." Ironwood groaned and rubbed his temples. "We don't have any guarantee that he would care for the students."

Ozpin shook his head. "But we do. Why else would I let Qrow follow him and Ms. Schnee? Why else would he have stood beside her?"

As the doors to the elevator opened behind Ironwood, the General lowered his head and gave a bitter laugh. "Already have it all figured out huh. But still…dammit Oz."

"That's why Qrow is there as the assistant lecturer."

Ironwood's jaw and the upper parts of his face immediately went through a divorce. "How is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Ruby is also in the course."

"Oh," Ironwood said. "I suppose that changes some things then."

"Yes," a cold voice pierced into their conversation, "I would say some things have changed. Without my knowledge."

From behind the scowling Ironwood, Glynda Goodwitch emerged, the muscles on her face tight and rigid. Though Ozpin's face remained impassive, he knew that something horrible was coming his way; the muscles on her face looked like they wanted break off from their ligaments and kill him.

"Headmaster," Glynda said as a vein pulsed on her forehead, "while I was walking over after finishing my class with the upperclassman, I believe I saw our balder guest, along with Qrow leading the students on a rampage across the campus. Over the course of said rampage, I do believe I heard one of the students refer to Mr. Saitama as 'lecturer'. However, I do understand that pranks are still played at this school, so…

Glynda's eyes narrowed until Ozpin could only see darkness within them.

"…is this just a fun game that I am unaware of, or did you actually hire the man who broke our moon as a lecturer?"

If someone were to check the undersides of Ozpin's palm, they would have found a sea of sweat pouring out.

There were times that simple strategy and logical reasoning was just not going to be enough to win. Glynda was one of these cases, and that warranted an evasive strategy, something to belay the scathing judgment of her eyes a bit longer. Thankfully, Ozpin had an option open to him that most did not possess.

To one person and one person only, the clocks in the room seemed to almost come to halt.

One moment, Ozpin was in his seat but a mere blink later, he was standing in the elevator with a new mug full of coffee. "I'll brief you on that later. Right now, I believe that I have a fundraiser to attend."

The darkness in Glynda's eyes grew. "Five in the afternoon is an interesting time for a fundraiser."

"They booked late," Ozpin replied as the elevator doors closed.

It wasn't until he finally got to the lobby that his palms stopped sweating.

…

"I'm in a nightmare," Weiss mumbled to herself, as she stumbled on forward following Ruby's lead. "I'm in a terrible nightmare and I just can't quite wake up."

The moment Qrow's sword came down, half the class had already been tagged. Weiss herself would have been among the causalities if Saitama had not run into the aware Cinder, still doing her laps and sending her sprawling to the floor.

Team RWBY and JNPR made a break through the walls while their lecturer made his apologies.

In the thirty seconds between their escape and the mad sprinting afterward they have never felt more helpless in their life.

"Gah! Gah guh gnuh!" Jaune said, agreeing with his heart that he was really quite tired.

Far behind them, Mercury and Emerald took a were just coming around the back of the dorms, as distant screams followed them.

Then, in an instant, a blurred shadow caught up and placed its unstoppable limbs gently down on Mercury and Emerald's shoulders.

"You two are pretty good," Saitama said with a nod. "That illusion trick fooled me for a second."

Emerald gulped while Mercury starred at the floor, uncertain on how to deal with how helpless he felt at that moment."

Meanwhile, far ahead two teams were still desperately running, with RWBY dashing up the roof of the dorms, while the JNPR stayed down on the ground. Jaune had a feeling that they were going to be the easier prey.

"Wai—guh—hold on," Jaune said, suddenly stopping. "Guys stop."

"No time to rest Jaune," Nora bellowed, stopping to encourage Jaune while running in place beside him. "The only way to work that cardio is to treat that cardio like Weiss treats your self-esteem."

"Wha—no," Jaune said. "I just had an idea."

"Well," Ren said, "make it quick because I think he just finished bringing the two he caught back to the arena."

"I—I think we shouldn't run from him," Jaune started.

"Jaune," Pyrrha said, "giving up is not—"

"No. Not giving up."

Pyrrah raised her eyebrow.

A few seconds later, Saitama found a warped barricade of bent metal and twisted alloys blocking his. He walked through it without another thought, seeking those who put it up in the first place.

As he faded from view, Jaune popped his head out of the bushes. "Great job with the barricade Pyrrha. I think that just might've thrown him off our scent!"

"It was nothing," Pyrrha said with a smile. "But the idea was most impressive."

"Oh," Jaune said rubbing the back of his head. "Well, it really wasn't much—"

A hand tapped Jaune over the head sending him sprawling into the earth.

"Distraction. Clever," Qrow said as he rounded up the rest of the group. "But you let your guard down."

Jaune spat dirt out of his mouth. "But—what?"

"I'm a part of this game too," Qrow said. "Did I not mention that?"

Jaune shook his head in disbelief. "No."

"Oh. Well now you know. Head on back to the arena."

JNPR slowly acknowledge him and began their trip in sullen silence. They were almost there, but just not quite; almost didn't have a victory in it.

"Hey," Ren said with a shrug. "At least the bald one didn't get us."

Jaune sighed. "I wonder how Ruby is doing?"

"Well," Ren said, "considering that our lecturer went after them…not so good."

Up a building and a block away, RWBY found themselves in bit of a pickle.

"Guys," Yang said pointing at a trail of smoke coming up around the dorms. "we might want to start panicking or something, because think he just lapped the entire academy. Twice. He'll figure out that there will be no place but up soon."

Ruby looked out in the distance at the statue, just beyond reach, but within sight. She probably could be able to launch herself over with a dash. Maybe Weiss could make it too, but Yang and Blake…

"I can stay," Blake said. "Distract him with my duplicates, or at least stall him. Might be able to buy you enough time to make it over and complete the exercise."

"No way," Yang replied, a slight spark of flame gliding down her hair. "I'm not leaving you back here."

"Its just an exercise," Weiss said. "If it gets us the win—"

"We finish together or we don't finish at all," Ruby declared with a large smile.

Weiss shook her head. "Stupid noble dolt. Well, if we're all going to lose, do we at least have a plan on how to lose with some dignity?"

By this point, Ruby could fell the gusts of force washing over her; Saitama was likely going to find them soon. Even with her speed, she probably could not maneuver or even outpace the lecturer in any form.

"Maybe his baldness helps with wind resistance," Ruby muttered to herself distractedly. "But even then its like friction doesn't even matter…oh."

A small smile grew over Ruby's face. "Oh."

"'Oh' what?" Weiss asked. "What?"

Ruby grinned. "Weiss, can you make us some ice?"

"Ice," Weiss said, narrowing her eyes. "How much, covering what?"

"Just that down there," Ruby said motioning excitedly towards a street.

Weiss huffed. "Well that's going to take a few vials of dust. What are you planning anyway?"

Unable to contain her devious plot anymore, Ruby pulled her team in for a brief moment of scheming. From a distance, Qrow watched team RWBY huddled together, uncaring of the speeding streak of yellow and red that drew slowly closer to them.

"Well, despite how unrealistic this sounds," Qrow said, mostly to himself, "hoping that your plan works kid."

It was the growing mist that was swirling around the roof of the dorms that eventually got Saitama's attention. With the sunlight flashing across the top of his head and simple hop from his end, he found himself on the roof, surrounded by mist.

Though his vision was obfuscated by the fog covered him, Saitama could still hear multiple skittering feet; there was definitely a team up on this roof.

Deciding that the mist just would not do, Saitama decided that he was going to rectify the situation with the most efficient method that he knew: consecutive weak side hops.

Though going he was going much slower than he normally would, the mist's integrity was compromised within seconds, the murky vapor in the air blown away by rapid morning exercise movements.

As the mist lifted away, a single, shocked Blake Belladonna stood on the edge of the roof, starring at Saitama without any hint of emotion.

"The mist was a pretty good idea," Saitama said while wandering over to Blake, "but I think it might have given away your position a bit early this time."

Reaching out to place his hand over her head, Blake gave a resigned sigh.

Then, she split away from her shadow clone, and Saitama felt his hand phase through where his student once was.

"Huh?"

"Hey," cried Ruby, shaking her fists as menacingly as possible towards Saitama, "Leave her alone,

Saitama looked at the shadow clone dissolving before him and then at Ruby, who looked slightly nervous. "Ok."

The moment his hand reached out, a burst of rose petals washed over him.

"Huh?" Saitama said the second time that day. Looking towards his left, he saw more rose petals left in a red blur's wake: Ruby.

"Why do I always have to deal with the speedsters," Saitama said, slightly annoyed as memories of Speed-o'-Sound Sonic resurfaced in his mind. Without another second wasted, Saitama began running after Ruby.

Backwards.

Sweat dripped down Ruby's face as she began to dash randomly across the roof, trying to buy time for Weiss to get the plan set up. Her sweat quickly turned cold when Saitama seemingly spontaneously appeared before her, waving at her.

"Hi," Saitama said.

"Gah!" Ruby cried as she dashed in another direction, only to find him right before her again. "Oh come on. This isn't fair."

Leaving a burst of petals in her wake again, Ruby launched herself away in vain as Saitama reappeared. Seeing no choice left, she began speeding towards the edge of the roof.

"You're pretty fast," Saitama said casually, keeping in pace with her as he began slowly reaching out with his hand. "If you keep training, I think even Genos might have some problems catching you when your older."

Ruby gave Saitama a nervous grin. "Thanks! And I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

Ruby, with final burst of effort and exertion, shot off the edge of the roof. Saitama followed her with a hop, and reached out gently when she suddenly changed directions in mid-air. In Ruby's hand was the extended limb of the Gambol Shroud, pulling her away from Saitama and towards Blake, who stood on another building in wait for this moment.

For all intents and purposes, this was to be a pointless act, as the moment Saitama landed, he would be upon them again. However, Ruby's plan did not just want him to land, it counted on him to.

"Weiss now!" Ruby yelled.

Saitama looked down below, focusing on the completely frozen pathway towards the statue, and Weiss standing right next to it, with a dark glyph coming into existence just on the ice. As the darkness around the glyph flared to life and Saitama suddenly felt himself get pulled downwards, Weiss grinned and cackled viciously.

Landing on the ice with a hard crunch, Saitama tried to stop but could as for all his power there was no friction to help him resist his motion. Sliding across the ice and away from his students, Saitama blinked and began rub his boots against each other at impossible speeds.

The ice began to melt. Weiss stopped cackling.

Thankfully, Ruby had one final ace in her pocket.

"Yang!"

With a loud cry and a scent of smoke and heat, Yang descended with both fists downwards into the ice, cracking the earth, shattering entire pieces of the frozen street, and sending Saitama off balance due to his legs being so close together.

Collapsing in a heap of limbs, Saitama shot and rolled towards the statue, into it for the second time in the last two days, breaking it utterly and shooting past it.

Blake shook her head. "Professor Goodwitch will not be pleased."

Reconvening courtyard as Saitama continued his bumpy slide down the road, Ruby cheered as she and her team sped toward their objective, with nothing in sight to stop them.

Then, Qrow came out of seemingly nowhere and clapped all of then over the head. "Nice try pipsqueak."

"Wha—" Ruby said, rubbing her head. Her confusion quickly turned to annoyance. "Uncle Qrow! That's not fair! You're not part of this game!"

"Really? I didn't realize that was up to you," Qrow chuckled. "After all, I am one of the lecturers as well."

"Yeah," Yang said with a frown on her face. "Assistant lecturer to be exact."

Qrow's smile faded a bit. "Simmer down with the burns there firecracker. I have the power to deduct even more points you know."

Yang folded her arms and glared at Qrow. Ruby promptly followed in her sister's example.

Stumbling back over, Saitama found team Ruby frowning at Qrow in a collective effort to guilt trip him.

"Yeah, that's not going to work," Qrow said. "Now go on back to the arena and check yourselves out of class. We're done for the day."

"Good job," Saitama said awkwardly, giving a thumbs up to team Ruby.

"Not really. We lost," Weiss said grumpily.

Saitama looked at them confused. "Huh, you did?"

Team RWBY looked at Saitama and shot one more dirty glare towards Qrow continued drinking on the side before walking off.

"So," Qrow said nudging Saitama with grin. "Saw the kids get one over on you."

"Yeah. It was pretty creative. I think maybe Genos should stay in class next time. It might actually help him find some of his answers that I can't give."

Giving Saitama and clapping on the back before wincing and rubbing his hand, Qrow stretched and looked around the courtyard. "I suppose we should figure out how to grade this assignment later. For now I think we better go before Glynd-

"Excuse me." The devil herself had emerged right as her name had been invoked. "Lecturers?"

Qrow froze and gripped Saitama by the cape before immediately making a quickened walk in the opposite direction of _her._

"Lecturers."

Instead of slowing down, they began to pretend that they didn't hear anything and started walking faster.

"Lecturers are not exempt from the rules," Glynda said as she telekinetically built a wall in the way of her prey. "When one breaks academy property, one must replace, fix, or somehow make up for the damages.

"Come on Glynda," Qrow groaned. "You know you could just wave your hands and the wall would be fixed."

"Yes," Glynda said. "But that would deprive me the chance of seeing you both on your knees."

Saitama looked at Glynda's expression and shrugged. "Ok."

Wandering over and dragging Qrow along with him, Saitama looked at Glynda. "So how do I make this up."

Glynda thought to herself for a moment. There was no way she would let a person who already desecrated and ruined the statue once and a drunkard partake in the rebuilding effort. That was up to her. However, the was also the matter of regarding pieces of the path.

"You reconstruct the road," Glynda said already waving her riding crop at the statue and restoring it to its original form. "I'll deal with this. Tell me when you are done."

Qrow sighed and pulled out his flask, which was promptly pulled out of his hands by an invisible force.

Glynda struggled against a cathartic smile. "Consider that motivation to finish your task early."

Qrow grumbled and looked at the many pieces of the pathway scattered and broken across the courtyard, before motioning for the bald hero to come along and help him.

Then, they shared the next half an hour in misery together.

…

Taking his flask back from Glynda, Qrow let out a breath and immediately began dumping the contents down his throat. He continued to do so for several minutes without breathing.

Saitama, only just done patting the dirt off his hands came after him to report to Glynda, but found himself more drawn to the newly repaired statue.

"Wow," Saitama said. "You fixed it completely."

"Yes," Glynda answered. "I trust you are done as well."

Saitama nodded. "The statue looks really good though. It looks just like it did before I fel—It broke the first time."

Glynda brushed her hair aside and studied her own work for a moment. The former glory to the statue had been restored: its form was reformed and after her reconstruction was finished. As the afternoon sun began to shine its last rays, the light seemed to gleam off the statue like it was brand new, and the blade of the Huntsman shone gold upon it.

"I had a lot of practice."

"Yeah," Saitama said rubbing his head that statue. "Are you in charge of the arts department here?"

Glynda shook her head. "We don't have that."

"Why not?"

Giving an annoyed huff Glynda shook her head. "Because there isn't a point."

"Yes there is," Saitama said, confused at Glynda's answer. "You're good at it."

Glynda raised an eyebrow. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You should be able to practice and training if you like doing something. If I didn't get to choose and do my hobby to become a hero, I would still probably be unemployed or an accountant."

Glynda struggled to imagine Saitama as anything other than the bald, badly dressed wrecking bald of the man that he was. Still, an odd sensation flooded her veins, something that she had not felt in the long time.

"Regardless of what I want or do not want," Glynda said shaking her head. "Beacon is here to serve the pupils first and foremost. We teach them the necessary skills to survive."

Saitama's confusion grew. "But there aren't any."

"What?"

"There aren't any skills to survive. To survive is choice and training. Maybe some power too."

"Perhaps for you," Glynda answered as she studied the bald hero before her. "The students are no where near as… capable."

"They can be," Saitama said. "Two years ago, I couldn't do what I am doing now."

"Two years?" Glynda said. "That's impossibl-"

Catching her tongue, Glynda realized who she was talking to. "Its improbable that the students will become anything like you."

Saitama rolled his shoulders nonchalantly. "Maybe. But it should be up to them. No one else. Well, since I'm done I think I'll be going now. Him—ah—uh—my guest lecturer—"

"Qrow," Qrow added helpfully.

"Qrow and I have grading matters to do or something."

As Saitama turned to leave, he gave the statue one final glance. "I think I was wrong. The statue isn't just the same. It actually looks better."

Without another word said, Saitama wandered off beside Qrow, back towards the arena to deal with the aftermath of their class. Glynda was left behind, starring at the back of Saitama's bald head.

Then, she turned her head back at the statue and Glynda swallowed the lump in her throat down.

 _A hobby was not something I could afford_ , Glynda whispered to herself from within. Trying to convince herself.

Lying.

…

 **Author's Note: With that the set up is effectively done. Things begin to go up from now as darkness comes for the lights, causing Saitama to trip over them blindly in the darkness. More characters will be joining in with the cast soon, as the tournament begins to kick into full gear. Soon, Genos will have to put that advanced tech that composes him to some sherlocking…**


	8. Interlude: A Gift, A Price

**Disclaimer: I doth not ownth anthingth. My Shakespearean is rather shite as well.**

Interlude: A Gift, A Price

Liberated from the constant running and failed exchanges with Genos for the day, Cinder decided that she was going to retreat back to her dorm while the tag was still going and plot a bit there.

Pushing open the door, and rubbing the spot on her ribs that Saitama ran into her at, she put her bag down beside her bed and found a spacious spot on the bedroom floor and began to focus her mind.

Small flames danced across Cinder's palm, swirling and drifting into odd shapes and stranger images. Conjuring more fire into her other palm, Cinder sat, eyes closed, mind open.

The glowing markings that adorned her body began to glow as the fire turned from bright orange to a consuming darkness. Then, Cinder opened her eyes, and found herself where she wanted to be.

The sky was a painting of crimson and shadow, with the broken moon in the distance barely visible in its waning light. Purple crystals and rocks with black veins filled the landscape. Behind her, Salem sat, same place as she always did, right at the entrance of her cave.

"I was expecting this visit. Tell me, how powerful is he?"

Cinder's lips opened and closed. So she knew. Of course she knew, she knew everything—her mind seemed to watch the world and all its events at once with a constant hint of bemusement, like it was all just a game to her.

For all Cinder could tell, it might as well be.

Salem's red eyes shone with a hidden delight that did not match the paleness of her face, or the darkness flowing through her veins. Her black robes fit her form perfectly, and there she sat on a chair fashioned out of crystal. In her hands, a dark red thread was being pulled across a piece of fabric—a glove.

"So distracted with you gift that you forget to speak," Salem hummed, pulling the thread through the glove one last time, "remember your manners dear. How is one to claim power if they aren't even able to claim dominance over their own tongue."

"What does this one do?" Cinder said, looking at the glove.

"Ah," she breathed as she severed the thread with her nails. "Excited. I envy that in you: the ability to feel desire burning within. Like a child when their guardian brings them a meaningless trinket."

Fighting the urge to clench her fists at the subtle mockery, Cinder continued to study the glove, coated in red and seemingly pulsing with life. "Can that glove kill a god?"

She laughed with mirth at the question. Standing up and wandering towards Cinder with a leisurely pace, her every step made the living, pulsing obsidian in the earth and rocks around her flow with more vigor, like adrenaline had been shot into the veins of the world around her.

"Kill a god?" she laughed lightly. "Why would it kill anything at all. It's a glove."

Cinder resisted a frown. She hated it when these games were played. "Then what does it do?"

"What all finery is meant to do: give you influence."

Cinder raised an eyebrow. "How?"

She smiled slowly drug her nail through the palm of her hand. Droplets of black and smoke began to leak out, more like tears than blood, and she simply turned her hand over the glove, letting the thick dark come down onto the fabric.

As soon as the first droplet found its spot on the center of the glove, roots of dark red began to spread across the glove. Spreading from the center outward and reconnecting at the finger tips and the palm, the pulsing life of the glove faded to feed the new essence that was to take its place.

Like ashes, the cut across her palm turned to dust and scattered into the void, leaving her unmarked as if nothing had happened. Then, she pulled the glove over her hand and gave Cinder a sweet smile.

"A demonstration then."

Before Cinder could react, the glove had already been placed upon her head and the roots on it came alive once more, this time reaching out as extensions and burrowing their way into Cinder's eyes and other facial opening.

The roots flooded Cinder's throat before she could scream, and she found herself taken deep down into the void, deep down into her very soul.

And in the past, she found herself again.

 _Tears came down Cinder's youthful face. Blood oozed out the many cuts upon her back, dripping down to the cellar's cobblestone floor._

 _Before her, Stepmother cleaned her whip, whipping blood off her tool with practiced motions. Her eyes never bothered to meet Cinder's._

" _Tell me," Stepmother's cold voice said, cutting deeper than the whip that she used, "what would your father say about your performance today at the tourney."_

 _Cinder sniffed and looked to the floor._

" _Hmm. That does sound about right. Dead men can't talk after all."_

 _Stepmother shook her head and let out a low sigh. She sat there, dragging her rag across her wipe again. The silence was unbearable._

" _I'm sorry," Cinder muttered._

 _Stepmother put down her whip, still partially unclean. "Sorry? You're sorry?"_

 _Cinder nodded and bit back a sob. She raised her eyes to look at Stepmother._

 _The back of her Stepmother's hand sent her sprawling to the floor._

" _Sorry doesn't change the reality that you failed to win today. Sorry doesn't matter when you dishonor the house of Tremaine. Sorry didn't matter when your father burned slowly—"_

" _Please stop," Cinder sobbed, covering her ears. "Stop!"_

 _A crack of the whip made Cinder drop her hands as an anguished cry escaped her lips; Stepmother had to make sure that Cinder heard everything that needed to be said._

" _He burned slowly," Stepmother snarled, whip in one hand and Cinder's neck clenched in the other, "because of you, my little monster. The greatest Huntsman I had ever known, struck low by his own bastard child."  
_

 _Cinder gasped as air stopped finding its way to her lungs. Her screams failed to come out as well._

" _Do you remember the way his flesh melted when your flames touched him," Stepmother continued. "The screams that came from him as he faded from this world while trying to save you from yourself."  
_

 _Cinder's eyes began to roll to the back of her head and more tears cascade down her eyes._

" _Sometimes I have these wonderful dreams. In them, he left you in your own inferno and returned to me, like I begged him to do at the time. Then, I awaken to reality, and my nightmare returns. He is dead. And you are not."_

 _Cinder's small arms lose the energy to struggle. The light of life fades from her eyes. She goes limp._

 _And then, Stepmother releases her, and the sudden gift of oxygen almost proves to be just as painful as the torture._

 _Throwing a bowl of leftover food that the family dog could not finish down in front of Cinder, Stepmother turned to leave._

" _You should get some sleep," Stepmother said, without a hint of previous rage. "You have training first thing tomorrow morning. Do not disappointment again."_

 _Cinder coughed and rubbed her sore throat. "Wait," Cinder begged. "Please. Kill me."_

 _Stepmother turned to look at Cinder with a mocking smile._

" _Its my fault," Cinder sobbed. "I should pay."  
_

" _And you will," Stepmother said. "But tools are meant to be used until they become broken. There is no point in throwing away something that still has value. No matter how miniscule."_

 _With that, she walked up the stairs and out of the cellar, leaving Cinder alone with a bowl of food and a few dead rats._

 _No one hears Cinder cry that night. No one would have cared any way._

 _No one cares…_

 _No one car-_

"STOP!" Cinder screamed as fire exploded through her eyes and mouth, burning away the infection that threatened to take her. With both hands supporting her shaking body, Cinder gasped for air and tried to stand, only to collapse in a broken heap. Tears of blood rolled down her cheeks as she blinked.

"Resilient as always child," Salem said, standing over Cinder and placing the glove on the ground before Cinder. Touching Cinder's cheek with her fingers and brushing away the tears of blood, she smiled with pride as Cinder opened her eyes to return an expression of pure hatred.

"Yes," Salem said with appreciation. "That is the feeling you want to keep if you want to claim your prize of power."

Cinder glared at her for a few more moments before letting the hate subside. "The glove…what happens if the victim fails to resist the visions."

She smiled darkly. "Then they fall prey to themselves, and without mastery of yourself, what more are you than a slave to others."

Taking the cursed prize, the glove, into her hands, Cinder looked over the article that caused her so much pain before pulling it onto her left hand.

"It looks lovely on you," she said. "It should serve as a worthy compliment to the other one until I can bring you more gifts."

"More?" Cinder asked.

"Mmhh. Yes. After all, you need to defeat a god, do you not? The bald one."

Cinder's eyes widened. "How do you—"

"The children described him to me," she said, looking at the shattered moon, and the massive dark shadow drifting across it. "My Moonborn had several very unflattering things to say about him, even though he only sensed him for a few seconds."

"Then you know how powerful he is," Cinder said.

"I felt his power the moment he spawned on this plane. Its disruptive, chaotic, infinite…and absolutely perfect."

"Perfect?" Cinder asked.

"Yes. He changes everything. Take the glove, and find someone of importance to mark within Vale's ruling body. Call off the attack on Beacon. There is a larger prize to be gained now."

Cinder smiled as she understood. "Why take a city when you can take a Kingdom."

She returned the smile. "Precisely dear. Always reminding me that I chose well. Now go on. Leave me be."

Cinder did not need to be told twice. Breaking the link in her mind, the world beyond began to dissolve.

The sky disappeared first, followed by the horizon, and then the ground, but finally, and eventually, Salem was left there, starring at Cinder in her realm of darkness. Then, only when she willed it, she faded away as well, leaving no trace of anything.

In the very next instance, Cinder was back in her dorm, area around her charred by her flames and the sprinkler above her going off, but all else being the same as she left it.

Standing up slowly, Cinder placed her hand on a bed to struggle through the drowsiness that filled her mind. Looking down at her the hand she placed as support, she saw it was still there.

The glove was on her hand. She felt the dark roots move at her bidding, like tendrils.

Then, the door to the dorm opened up, and her team wandered in, done with their exercise of the day.

"Cinder?" Mercury asked as he pushed open the door. "Is everything—oh…your eyes."

Seeing the disturbed looks on Mercury and Emerald's faces, she walked into the bathroom to look herself in the mirror. It seemed that she wasn't finished crying tears of blood yet, as another droplet escaped her eyes involuntarily.

Wiping her face, Cinder could hear Mercury breaking the sprinklers in the room off with several quick kicks, and felt the presence of Emerald right beside her.

"Are you okay?"

Cinder breathed out deeply. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure—"

An inferno came into Cinder's eyes. "I'm fine!"

Emerald stumbled back, terrified and confused.

Cinder sighed. "I'm fine. We have much to discuss. I have made adjustments to our objectives."

"Does it have anything to do with your new glove," Mercury nodded towards Cinder's left hand. "You didn't have it before."

Cinder opened and closed her gloved hand several times. "I will explain in a moment. Now, out of the bathroom. I need a moment."

Obeying her word as if she was truly their master, Emerald and Mercury closed the door and retreated into the bedroom.

Wiping the blood and snot off her face, Cinder looked in the mirror. She looked like she was ten again.

Hate shot through her veins at the very thought of being ten again.

"I'm not sorry," Cinder said as magma pooled in her eyes. "I'm not sorry. I will never be sorry."

…

 **Author's Note: Therapists: we need them in our fictional words. Just one of them would lessen the problems exponentially. Well, onwards to the tournament arc now. No promises that the stadium will survive it.**


	9. The Calm Part 1

_Disclaimer: Mine, this is not. Sued, I wish not to be._

 **The Calm...**

 **Part 1**

A single primal cry exploded out of team JNPR's dorm, followed by a very tired, uncomfortable looking Lie Ren who did not so much explode out the door as he did stumble.

Ren sighed. "Nora…come on."

A voice replied to him from within the room. "Just do it Ren! This will be brilliant!"

Lie Ren sighed and pulled a small flag that had a sloth holding a hammer baldy sewn into it out of his pocket, waving it with all the enthusiasm he could muster. "Presenting her majestic presence, Nora Valkyrie. Queen of the Slothlands. Duchess of Hammers. Supreme Goddess of the Cleavage!"

With a ear-rending war cry, Nora stomped out of the room, her face resonate with joy and her chest stuffed unevenly.

"It's time to crush my enemies, make Ren sing my praises! AND SEE THE GRIMM DRIVEN BEFORE MY CLEVAGE! Mmmmhhh! Ren! My cleavage is delicious!"

"Don't eat your breast pads, Nora," sighed Ren.

"But the pancakes taste so good! Come on, I'm going to need new cleavage and more practice to get the sloth shout down."

As Ren ushered Nora back in to make her cleavage whole again, Jaune stumbled in trying to avoid looking at the uneven chest of Nora or the weary eyes of Ren. Peace and quiet his room was not.

"I can't believe uncle Qrow did that to us. Even professor Saitama thought we won. Its not fair."

Ruby puffed her cheeks as she stormed down the dorm's hallway with a carton of milk in one hand while she clenched her other in a tiny fist that she furiously shook at nothing in particular.

"So you guys got caught too?" Jaune asked.

Ruby just pouted and puffed her cheeks harder before aggressively draining the milk out of her carton. "I though Uncle Qrow was on our side. It was already unfair enough that we have to race against Dr. …uh…Mr. Saitama?"

"Yeah, but at least," Jaune paused and swallowed before giving a nervous laugh, "…at least we managed to get away from Lecturer Sai—Saitama."

"Yeah," Ruby said, "his name is pretty weird. You think Mr. Saitama came from the same place as Yatsuhashi?"

Jaune considered that possibility. "Well, they do sound alike, but I do remember Yatsuhashi jaw barely hanging on like ours' so…."

"Hmmm. What if…what if Mr. Saitama is an alien?"

Jaune considered that possibility. "Then why does he look so similar to us?"

"Maybe he's is wearing a disguise!" Ruby said. "He might be disguised as one of us to find out more about our world! Or—or he's like an alien space Huntsman! That must be why he's so bald too. Dad and Uncle Qrow start growing out stubble a day after they shave, but Mr. Saitama is still balder and shinier than marble. Ohhhh, we might be being trained by an alien! This is so cool!"

Jaune thought of the dome shaped atmospheric domes that aliens were adorned with in Atlesian science fiction. The thought didn't last long as the horrors of Grimm biology invaded his mind. "Huh, you might be right. I suppose we'll find out more in the coming weeks. Well, I'm going back into my dorm. Got to finish what's left of my Grimm physiology. Hope Nora's done doing…whatever she's doing."

"Oh yeah, me too. Think this one's going to be hard?"

Jaune shrugged. "Well, you did manage to kill Nevermore. Writing about it should be considerably easier."

Ruby smirked. "Probably true. If you need any help, me and the rest of RWBY will be in the room."

Jaune rubbed the back of his head. "I might take you up on that."

Bidding Jaune farewell, Ruby wandered back towards her room. She was only a few steps away when she found Weiss leaving the dorm room with an annoyed scowl and a handful of toiletries.

"Weiss, is my sister doing her hair again?"

Weiss gave Ruby a 'what do you think' expression. "She washes that hair so much that I am surprised it hasn't turned to actual gold yet. Or fallen off entirely."

Shivers ran up Ruby's spine. She never told Weiss what had happened to the people who sold her sister a brush that took off a few strands of hair, or the time when her father tried to make Yang go get a haircut.

"Oh well," Weiss sighed, "I think I'm going to use communal bathroom agai—agai…

Weiss's mouth ceased in its functions as her brain gave up on her. Ruby watched as the indignation on Weiss was overthrown and replaced with another, more perplexed emotion.

"Uh, Weiss? Are you okay?" Ruby waved her hands across Weiss's face. Weiss showed no response.

And then Ruby saw it too.

"Ge—Genos," Ruby squeaked. "Wha—what?"

Shame grew on Genos's face patted his chest. "I know. Its design is subpar at best, and I have no idea what kind of power output this might give should I place a proper core enhancer on the outside of my chest. But I am nowhere near as brilliant as Dr. Kuseno. He would have understood how to fit a larger core into my chest without warping my frame to this extent."

A mutual blush came over Weiss and Ruby as they gaped at the singular protruding mound on Genos's chest.

In more straightforward terms, it looked like Genos molded a prosthetic uni-boob to his chest.

Weiss blinked. "How—lewd!"

If Genos took offense to this accusation, his face did not show it.

This was also the moment Yang decided to appear, with a towel wrapped around her head and a tired expression that did not stay when she saw Genos. Her bemusement grew even more as she saw how Genos's new…additions overshadowed a certain someone else's.

A low cackle, like something from a drunken hyena, invaded the hall before growing in intensity. Soon, cackles became rumbling belly laughs and Yang found herself tumbling all over the floor, with the towel on her head coming undone. Ruby, Weiss, and Genos watched as the blonde laugh until her face turned red and tears escaped from her eyes.

"Yang?" Ruby asked out of concern for her sister's mental health. "Are you okay?"

"Oh," Yang said, wiping the tears from her eyes and hold up her scroll. "This—this is grand. The cyborg gave himself a…a…robotic boob-job!"

"Oh of course you would find this funny," Weiss grumbled. "Your juvenile sense of humor never ceases to disappoint me."

The criticism was pretty much drowned out by Yang's maniacal laughing. "You don't understand…know what makes this even better, it's the fact that I didn't even notice you when I first got out. His chest literally was more noticeable than your entire person. You…you got overshadowed by a ro-boob!"

Weiss scowled furiously as her face turned several shades of red, and she looked down at the floor, only to be reminded by her own flatness. Brushing her hand over her chest, which still had airstrip proportions, Weiss sighed as Yang got next to Genos and started doing lewd comparisons with her own dimensions. "I hate you. I hate you so, so much."

"Don't worry Weiss," Yang said as she grinned, finding her way beside Weiss nudging the heiress, "you could always ask Genos for an enhancement."

"You—I would never—this is maddening!"

"Just ignore them," Blake said, yawning as she walked out the dorm. "You know how Yang is….oh."

A mound stared Blake in the face. A mound that did not belong.

Blake looked inquisitively at Genos's mound. "I think you might have taken his words a bit too seriously."

"Truly?" Genos asked. "Do you think master will be displeased with my chests design?"

"I don't know about displeased," Blake said. "I would probably say horrified instead. Also, wouldn't it have been better if you made your chest larger in general rather than just adding a mound."

A small popping noise responded to Blake as her eyebrows rose. In Genos's hands was the mound, now detached from his chest, a round and jiggling bag that had suction cups attached to its back. Yang's face turned purple as she doubled over from laughter again. "It's detachable. Weiss now's you chance! Put it on, put it on now!"

"To be entirely honest," said Genos, "I am not sure on how to start modifying myself to such an extreme degree. Your land and materials are foreign to me. I am just trying to get used to the top heavy nature of this possible modification."

Yang snickered at the words 'top heavy'. Weiss just pinched the bridge of her nose.

As Blake shook her head at Yang's antics, Ruby looked into her dorm and realized that this was her chance: it was time that she introduced Genos to her baby.

"Oh—oh! I wanted to show you the Crescent Rose remember! Come on." Ruby leaped into action, not even waiting for Genos to acknowledge or agree before dragging him into RWBY's dorm.

The room was a reasonably sized one, Genos noted. From what information he could gather, it seemed that only a few select members of society found themselves in the halls of an academy such as Beacon. Perhaps that is why the academy spared no expense; the hopes that the students might prove to be a worthy investment.

Four beds stacked in twos, several desks, and other more miscellaneous decorations adorned the room. Genos wondered if this was what university was like back on his world.

"Ahem," Ruby said, trying to get Genos's attention.

Attention drifting away from the room, and towards the weapon that Ruby lifted off her work bench, Genos found himself immediately questioning how a girl her size could wield that.

The scythe unfolded and expanded to its full majesty. To ordinary eyes, it was already a menacing sight, massive and coated with a paint of crimson, a color that told tale of a girl who was already far too used to seeing that shade of red on her weapon.

To Genos, it was surprisingly designed piece of engineering, with interlocking gears and mechanisms composing it, internally and externally. His mechanical irises drifted up and down the blade over and over again, examining the effort that it took to make such a weapon. It had so many mechanisms and parts that it actually failed to make any sense.

What if something within it broke? How many bullets could it hold? Why did she make it a rifle? All these questions evaded Genos's understanding. He should have brought his notebook. So much knowledge still evaded him

Looking down at his own limbs and back at the Crescent Rose, he wondered if Dr. Kuseno looked upon him like Ruby gazed her weapon. He could never quite tell if it was pride or joy in the doctor's eyes when he was saved. He couldn't quite tell for Ruby either.

"Psst, Rubes," Yang said, eyeing Genos warily, "I've seen that look on a guy before, and it's usually when their looking down my shirt."

Instead reacting with disgust or horror Ruby just hummed and nodded with pride. "Crescent Rose is a beauty. He's just appreciating her for her curves."

The other three members froze and turned to look at Ruby.

"What? What's wrong? Did I say something wrong?" Ruby asked, "Is there something on my face?"

"Curves…" Blake started uncertain how to ask Ruby if she just made a perverted joke, "You said curves."

Ruby shrugged. "The Curve of the blade? The arc that starts from the shaft and ends the tip?"

Weiss's eyes began to twitch uncontrollably as she tried to figure out if Ruby was genuinely clueless about the words that were escaping her lips, or if she had a more devious mind than anticipated.

"Ruby," Yang said faking a sniffle, "I am so proud of you."

While Ruby and Yang continued having their moment, Genos felt an urge to dismantle the weapon, to examine it further. It did not make much sense to him, how such a device could function so well all the time. Then again, Dr. Kuseno's core technology was an enigma to him as well; his new heart something beyond his comprehension, much like the laws of this new world.

"Dust," Genos muttered to himself. "I have come across this 'dust' many times in my research of your world, and yet it still makes no sense to me."

"The feeling is mutual about you too," Weiss said, receiving a nudge from Blake for her comment. "What, its true. You think dust is weird for you, well imagine a bald man who apparently doesn't understand limitations."

Genos did not quite get the point Weiss was making. "Master is strong. Yes."

"No…no one is that strong. No one can be that strong."

Genos looked at Weiss confused. "Master is. He has shown you all the past few days how powerful he is."

"That's the point! He is doing things that are physically impossible! You can't break the moon with…with…and punch the pieces after hopping off into space. It doesn't make any sense, how can someone—gah!"

Finally understanding Weiss's words Genos let out a small breath. "That is the question that drives me too."

"You don't know either? I thought you were his closest student?" Blake asked.

"I was his only student," Genos said. "But even I have no idea how Master can do what he does?"

"I mean, you pretty much live with him right? Doesn't he have a training routine?" Yang asked.

Genos looked at the floor and wondered if he should tell them the truth about Saitama's might. That though his master claimed to have obtained his ability through moderately hard exercise, Genos honestly had no idea what really made Saitama the way he is.

It was like he just was meant to be powerful. And bald.

"Well?" Weiss asked.

Saying that his master did 100 sit-ups, push-ups, squats, and a ten kilometer run everyday for three years without air conditioning probably wouldn't be believed. "I have yet to understand the true nature of my master's power."

"Do it have anything to do with how bald his is?" The sardonic tone in Weiss's voice seemed to go unnoticed by Genos.

"I suspected that as well, but unfortunately I did not find any data that supports that claim over the course of my research."

"Research?" Weiss asked.

"When I was living with master, I decided to monitor his eating habits, his dressing routine, what he watched, what he read, what air quality he lived around, what toilet paper he use—"

Weiss rolled her eyes. "Alright we get it, you pretty much got his life down. Did you find anything?"

A shake of the head was all that Weiss got.

"Well you lived with him so long, you must have gotten something?"

A solemn look loomed over Genos's expression. "I learned what being a hero truly means."

Weiss was unimpressed. "The baldy taught you that?"

A brief moment silence went through the room. To reveal his past, Genos understood, was to expose potential vulnerability to the world, but considering his position it may also have a use to it.

Master and he might not be able to leave for quiet some time. Even if they were to leave, trust needed to be garnered. There was no way that they were going to be able to plot their own way home. It was best to make allies when they could, and build the foundations of trust.

"I was fifteen when my village was destroyed by a crazed cyborg. Though its rampage was brief, I was the only, mortally wounded, survivor out of my entire village."

All hints of disbelief disappeared from Weiss's expression, now replaced by discomfort. This didn't seem like something she should hear. The reality of Genos's existence hit Weiss: the only person he might be close to, for all she knew, was the baldy.

"I thought I was to die that day under the rubble that was my home, until Dr. Kuseno, a scientist of justice, came across me and decided to save my life."

"He's the one who rebuilt you?" Ruby asked, the augmentations that composed Genos no longer seeming so cool.

"But why?" Blake interjected before Genos could continue. "Why be rebuilt into the form of a weaponized cyborg? With technology as advanced as the limbs on you, he could have returned you to a normal life."

"He didn't want to, but I begged him. I think he didn't have the heart to resist my plea in the pitiable state I was in. I chose to become a weapon."

Ruby cast a glance to Crescent Rose and then back at Genos. Slowly, Ruby placed her weapon back down on her work bench. Genos and Crescent Rose, both built for similar purposes. It didn't feel right to her.

Blake frowned. "Was it for revenge?"

Looking down his hands, which held the incineration blasters that helped him defeat so many, Genos pondered a proper answer to Blake's question. "Perhaps once. For four years I traveled the land, seeking out villains, monsters and evildoers out in the name of defense, but in actuality to grieve…to rage."

A shadow drifted through Blake's mind, and she fought to quell a plea from within her, begging her to run. She was not with them anymore. "Pain makes victims. Hate makes monsters. Not one walks away from tragedy untouched. No one is touched in the same way."

"Indeed," Genos said. "But that does not mean that what was once broken cannot heal. Years of battle, through innumerable foes, I found myself lost to the war against evil, that began to consume me. Until that fateful day when I nearly died again."

"Again?" Ruby asked, almost a whisper.

"I was facing a foe that fed and grew stronger off blood. I made several mistakes in my battle, believing myself to be far stronger than she-I was, but in an instant, I was no more. Once again, with my limbs shattered and body broken, I came close to the end. I decided in that moment that if I was to die, I would go on my terms, and nearly activated my self destruct—"

"Whoa, whoa. Self destruct?" Yang interjected. "As in you can blow yourself up? Like right now if you chose to?"

Genos nodded.

"Well," Yang said with a grim expression, "your Doctor got all your bases covered. That's pretty kind of him."

"Yang!" Ruby cried.

"I don't fault her words," Genos said. "To choose to die on my own terms…that is a choice that few get in their darkest moment. I am glad that Dr. Kuseno was willing to grant me such a choice."

"Sometimes death is a mercy," Blake agreed. "I think some of the lost and damned of our world would have given anything to have their death be truly theirs."

A chill came upon Ruby and gripped at her insides. It was a reality that she would not bow to. "People shouldn't just die. They shouldn't just give up."

"Sometimes," Weiss said, clearing her throat uncomfortably, "they don't have a choice."

"But that's why we're here right? To give them a chance."

Stuck silent by Ruby's words, Genos felt a very familiar feeling to them. Usually though, the one saying such words was balder.

"A chance is exactly what I got," Genos said. "As that was the same day I met Master."

"Ohhhh, this is going to be good," Yang said, excited for the coming tale of Saitama's epic battle.

"After he defeated my fo—"

"Wait…wait," Yang stopped Genos, "You skipped a whole bunch there. How did he defeat the foe?"

Genos blinked. "He punched her."

"And?"

"She exploded."

The anticlimax hit Yang in the face like a mountain. "Well, should've seen that coming."

"Regardless," Genos continued, "I think that was the first time I ever saw a true hero."

Ruby was confused. "Wait, weren't you battling evil for all that time?"

"Vanquishing evil and being a hero are two separate paths," Genos said as Ruby asked Weiss what vanquishing meant. "I was confused by that for the longest time, but when Master finally accepted me as his student, I began to learn the difference."

The team looked at each other with discomfort, uncertain as if this was tale was theirs to hear, Ruby looked towards Genos's impassive face with a heartbroken curiosity.

"Genos?" Ruby asked.

"Yes."

"Do you remember what your parent—your mother was doing before—before…"

Yang's breath hitched. "Ruby…"

Genos looked at the floor, as if the ground could tell him what to say, to bring back lost thoughts and memories. "The damage dealt to my flesh was far too extensive. Dr. Kuseno barely managed to salvage my injured organs and brain. I do remember the feelings that I had…I do remember that they cared for me, that we weren't very rich, but I was happy."

With a few uncertain steps, Ruby walked forward with her head down and wrapped her arms around Genos's waist. "I'm sorry."

Uncertain on how to properly proceed with the small girl's arms around him, Genos looked to, Yang who just shrugged and made awkward gestures, indicating that he should return the hug.

The hug from Genos was full of uncertainty and hesitation. Slowly, his metal limbs wraped around Ruby's small frame, patting her more than holding. Beyond the small girl now buried in his chest, Genos noticed the expressions on each of the other girls' faces. There was loss written in all their eyes.

No one seemed to live in their world unscathed.

She made an effort to hide her face from all those in the room. "No." Ruby chirped. "No. I won't accept a world were losing someone is just fine."

"And we didn't," Yang said softly. "We became Huntresses."

Blake swallowed and left her spot to find a book to shield her while Weiss tried to find something interesting to look at on the table next to Yang, her hands fidgeting with her dress.

Yang, forcing a smile back on her face, walked behind Ruby and placed her hand on Ruby's back. Everyone held their spots for several seconds in torturous silence silence. Thankfully, it did not last.

"Neither did I," Genos said. "I became a cyborg to destroy evil. But I became a hero to defend the weak. With Master Saitama, I understood much of what it meant to be a hero. It wasn't power, or what other thought of you, or how little hair you had, or what fries you ate. It was simply a willingness to help: an eagerness that can be found in the simplest soul."

Unfastening her arms from Genos's waist and backing into Yang's supporting warmth, she exhaled and the misery broke off her face. Weiss's jaw slowly gravitated towards the floor. The rest of RWBY didn't fare much better in their expressions.

"That's…" Yang said, struck by the speech. "That was pretty good actually."

Genos looked surprised. "Truly? People usually tell me that I ramble and am rather terrible at the art of storytelling."

"Well you did ramble on for quite some time befo—ow!" Weiss rubbed her arm and glared at Blake, who held her blank expression.

"I didn't take you for an idealist," Blake said.

Pulling away from the hug, Ruby swallowed her sadness. Despite the obvious hurt though, Genos found himself appreciating the fact that there wasn't a hint of tears in her eyes. That strength would serve her well.

"Well," Yang said, "with all that agonizing discomfort out of the way lets all stand appreciate the fact that we have a boobed cyborg giving us encouragement." Yang patted Genos on his mound. "I think we just peaked guys: tournament, cyborg, crazy bald moon-breaker…yeah, can't think of anything that could top this. Rest of our lives will be downhill from here."

There was a particular word that caught Genos's interest. "Tournament? What kind of tournament?"

Ruby's eyes widened, all hints of her prior sadness fading away like it never was. "The tournament! You can help Yang practice for the finals! You can help us practice our teamwork! You can—I mean…can you please? Please?"

Glowing augmented eyes found themselves shrouded in uncertainty. He would have to proceed in moderation if he didn't want to do too much damage. However, witnessing how the local students conducted themselves in battle would be a valuable insight lost if Genos failed to seize this opportunity.

Then there was the matter of Ruby's eyes, which seemed to resemble a puppy's more than it did a person's.

Genos jaw tightened a bit. "I suppose I have some time to spare."

Ruby bounced with glee as Genos felt uncertainty arise from his choice. He wondered if he was doing something he would soon regret.

"I should get Jaune and his team too," Ruby said grabbing Crescent Rose off her desk and bolting out the door. "They won't want to miss this."

And indeed they didn't, or in the words of Nora which tore through the halls in several bone-shaking statements, "Robot sparring! He has cleavage too? THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!"

Yang chuckled and rubbed Genos's hair, much to the cyborg's displeasure. "You'll get used to us."

…

"Tag?" Ironwood asked.

Saitama nodded.

Ozpin sipped his coffee.

Glynda's palm found her face.

Qrow was hung-over.

It was growing to be a rather typical afternoon for the foursome.

"If you don't mind me asking," Ironwood sighed, "what was the point of this exercise."

This inquiry drew a chuckle from Qrow. "To teach kids that you're not going to outrun the bald guy."

Ironwood glared at Qrow. "How does that in anyway help the students become better hunters?"

Qrow burped and shrugged.

"Ozpin," Ironwood pleaded more than he said, "look at them. These two are teaching the next generation of hunters and huntresses."

Ozpin lowered his coffee and did just that. "Mr. Saitama."

Saitama blinked. "Yes?"

"You have a speck of dirt on your head."

"Oh…thanks." Saitama wiped his head.

Ozpin resumed his coffee sipping.

Ironwood's forehead twitched in agitation. "I—you—agh! You're evading this on purpose."

Ozpin stared Ironwood straight in the eyes and nodded very slowly, so that the General could see that he clearly did not care. They had this conversation before, and Ozpin let him knew then how he felt about the situation. That was not going to change now.

"Headmaster," Glynda said, "Ironwood does have a point."

Perking up slightly, Ironwood gave Glynda an appreciated nod.

"It is clear that our guest lecturer has no experience teaching, and obvious that Qrow here has the maturity of a child half the age of the students."

Qrow had to concede to that point.

"So," Glynda continued, "I propose another option that might be able to satisfy both you and General Ironwood."

"Go on," said Ozpin.

"What if there was another lecturer added to the class. One with more experience, possibly from commanding. One that clearly deals with a great deal of management, and has demonstrated a capability of directing his staff in matters of military importance."

"It sounds like such an individual would indeed bring some semblance of order to the class," Ozpin said.

"Yes. He would also possibility balance out the chaotic nature of the other lecturers too."

"Well," Ironwood said, "it's not ideal, but acceptable. Who's going to be the…the…new…lecturer…no. Absolutely not."

It was at this moment that Ironwood had a horrible, and utterly terrifying realization Knowing Ozpin and that diabolically serene smile, Ironwood felt his destiny slowly slip away form his control.

He also made sure to give Glynda his most betrayed expression.

She didn't care.

"That," Ozpin said, "is an excellent suggestion Glynda. I will make arrangements for General Ironwood to be added along to lecturers Saitama and Branwen."

"I—uh—Oz…I have…I got important tasks ahead of me. I have an army I need to run. Security for the festival!"

Ozpin cast an aside glance to Saitama. "And you should take comfort in knowing that you will now have additional assistance and a source of aid for your strenuous duties."

Panic briefly appeared on Ironwood's face as he realized what Ozpin was insinuating. Ironwood's neck turned like a rusted gear as he slowly, torturously looked behind him at clueless Saitama and a smug Qrow who waved cheekily.

"Oz…I—"

"Its alright James. You can thank me later. Right now, I understand that you and your new cohorts have a tournament to help manage so that you all can get back to your class on time tomorrow."

With his jaw opening and closing, Ironwood found that his words failed to serve him on any level.

"Don't worry Jimmy," Qrow said, "we'll be sure to go slowly so that you don't get left in the dust. Isn't that right, oh great baldy one?"

Saitama frowned at that nickname. "I told you not to call me that."

Qrow smirked. "It fits."

"You don't hear me calling you drinking drinker," Saitama mumbled. "Even though its like your entire personality."

Qrow happily agreed with swing of his flask. "Hey, baldy one?"

Saitama frowned at the name again. "What?"

Shuffling up to Saitama with a few several unstable stumbles, Qrow tried to whisper, "What do you think we should call the new kid."

"I don't think we should call me anything," Ironwood said.

"I think that Admiral Stick-up-the-ass has a nice ring to it," Qrow chuckled. "Huh, how bout it?"

"I donno," Saitama said looking at weariness flooding into Ironwood's face, "it seems kinda mean for no reason. And isn't he a General not an Admiral?"

Glynda thought she could see a small bit of gratitude in Ironwood's eyes when Saitama remembered his proper title.

Qrow smiled. "That's the entire point. Come on, let's go before we get any additional baggage attached to us. Bring Admiral Stick-in-butt."

Saitama shook his head, "I thought it was stick-up-the-ass?"

"It's all the same to me."

Giving Ironwood a sympathetic look, Saitama motioned for him to come along. With the mood and temperament of a prisoner about to be executed, Ironwood slowly began to drag his body towards the elevator, to follow two maniacs into what is almost certainly a specially designed hell for him.

He stopped before Glynda. "I trusted yo-this…this is revenge isn't. For me taking over... The festival…all this."

Glynda didn't make eye contact. "You're going to be late for planning class, assistant lecturer Ironwood. Be on your way."

His hurt gaze lingered and then broke away. It seemed like the weight of the world had descended on his shoulders.

"He always was rather dramatic," Ozpin said, watching Ironwood leave.

Glynda shook her head. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"You proposed it."

Glynda frowned. "Someone told me to do so before the meeting even started. Truly, do you think that this will go well?"

"Absolutely not," Ozpin said bluntly. "It's likely terrible and will create chaos and havoc on an unprecedented level for the students and the tournament. The festival is almost certainly ruined this year."

"Then why?"

Ozpin looked out the window, as if he was trying to visualize the storm that was soon to rain down upon Beacon. "Because chaos is the greatest adversary of the unseen."

Glynda frowned the back of Ozpin's head, watching him slowly take a sip of his coffee. "You've been practicing that line in your head haven't you?"

Ozpin tilted his head in agreement. "How was it?"

"Quite forced."

"Ah. Glynda?"

"Headmaster?"

Ozpin smirked. "Who do you think will break first?"

Glynda blinked before sighing after a beat. "You don't give James enough credit."

"You underestimate how much James hates Qrow," Ozpin said. "What to bet?"

"…Ten lien on Ironwood."

 _Bastard's note: Well, after weeks of traveling and filling out papers, I have finally wandered back into a land where the internet exists. For the foreseeable future, I should be within the confines of civilization. Unless it strikes me to leave. I have never seen a lemur before. I wonder what they taste like._


	10. The Calm Part 2

Author's Note: To be sued or not to be sued. That is the question. Not to be. None owned. Please don't.

The Calm…

Part II

The Guan Yu Arena was always active with students, training and struggling in its many rings of combat. Affectionately referred to as 'The Forge' by students and alumni to Beacon, generations of huntsmen left the rings of the area better than they were before.

However, the sounds of battle today were distracted and halfhearted, the students more interested at a certain visitor rather than their adversary. The interest they felt was a reciprocal one.

In between team RWBY and Pyrrha was Genos, jotting down notes at a frightening quick pace as he took in the many battles unfolding around him. Their weapons, their styles, their powers all seemed to match their personalities to an uncanny degree.

He supposed that it should be no surprise that they referred to their powers as a semblance.

However, there was one individual that Genos couldn't quite figure out. He could not quite place his method of combat, nor what his special ability was. Unless being used as a blunt weapon against your ally could be considered a method of combat.

"Is there something wrong with him?" Genos asked.

"No," Ruby said frankly. "It's just how Jaune is."

"…Interesting."

Weaving, drifting, and dancing through swings of hammer and screaming Jaune, it was clear that Ren sought to overcome through through skill rather than strength. Genos sketched Ren's movements down into his notebook, watching intently as he slid under spinning Nora before suddenly stopping, and launching himself from the ground up at Nora's legs, seeking to sweep her.

Every action he took was based in thought and planning. Ren reminded Genos of old master Bang.

Jaune on the other hand, somehow reminded him of Lisenceless Rider. If Liscenceless Rider screamed more.

Several sweeping kicks stuck Nora repeatedly across her knees. Though each impact was loud enough to reverberate through the gym, Nora continued grinning and responded by slamming her hammer down to ward off Ren.

Flipping backwards, Ren readied himself in a crouched position, ready to renew his assault from a different angle. Unfortunately, Nora had already anticipated his course of action and plotted accordingly.

"Cleavage blast!" Nora roared. reaching down her shirt with a sadistic grin and pulled out a round mass of pancakes that constituted her cleavage.

Ren sighed.

Jaune screamed.

The mess of pancakes exploded across the floor causing Ren skid in a hopeless attempt to find some friction.

"Jaune bolt!" Nora declared grabbing one of Jaune's leg with both her hands before rearing him back.

"Nora! Wait!" Jaune begged. "I'll get motion si—"

Nora flung Jaune at Ren with glee. "JAUNE! BOLT!"

With a terrified cry, Jaune collided back first into Ren's face, causing them both to tumble out of the ring. Ren would have recovered and continued the battle, but Jaune's awkward flailing brought on by motion sickness resulted in Ren's head getting slapped repeatedly before they both landed outside the ring in a heap.

Swallowing spit to resist throwing up, Jaune turned to look at Ren. "I—ugh—I did better this time right."

Ren just looked straight up at the ceiling. "Get off of me."

"Nora wins!" Nora gleefully bellowed, raising both fists to the air.

"Is that what a round in the tournament looks like?" Genos asked.

Pyrrha chuckled. "Only when Nora is involved."

Scribbling down Nora's stance of victory Genos found himself intrigued. "Are you allowed to use your teammate as a weapon?"

"Well," Ruby said, "Jaune did yell for a teamwork attack—"

"HEY!"

Ruby and Genos turned to look at Nora with one hand on her waist and the other stuffing the remains of her pancake cleavage back down her shirt. "I see you down there doing the chitting and the chatting, but none of the fighting fighting! I came here to have a cleavage brawl with a robot!"

Ruby blinked. "He's a cyborg."

Nora pointed her hammer at Genos. "Silly Ruby, it's the same thing! What's the big idea then? You roll on down here before the Queen of Hammers and suddenly you're a book robot now? That's the worst kind of robot? I ask this of you, sir: where is your honor? Where is your dignity? Where. Is. Your. Cleavage?"

"What." said Weiss.

Genos stared at Nora for a moment before turning around to pull out his makeshift mound before attaching it to his chest. "Here."

"What," said Pyrrha, unprepared.

Nora's eyes grew misty she nodded in an appreciation. "I knew we were kindred spirits. Now get up here and let's brawl cleavage buddy."

Genos placed his notebook down. "What are the rules for the tournament."

Unable to contain her glee at possibly watching a Genos-Nora rumble, Ruby fired out, "Soyoucan'tpunchheruntilsheexplodesbutalmostiftheauragetsredyouwinifyoufalloutshewinsohyesthisishappeingwoooooo!"

"You lose by falling out, when your aura gets into the red, or by disqualification. No outside assistance. That's about it." Blake translated for Ruby.

"I see," Genos said. "Aura is your personal shielding correct."

Blake nodded. "As long as you don't keep hitting her after she goes into the red, you'll be fine."

With a boost from his legs, Genos leapt far above Nora before landing behind her. Genos set his incinerators as low as he could. The objective was investigation not annihilation.

Yang grinned. "Ten lien on the new guy."

Nora turned fiercely and threw a chit at Yang. "Ten lien on Nora!"

"Isn't it usually illegal to bet on yourself?" Weiss asked.

Pyrrha picked up the chit, "I think this might be Ren's."

Said person wandered back over to the seats, dragging Jaune on the ground behind him.

"What's happening now?" Ren asked.

Yang pointed to the stage.

Ren sighed. "Why does the cyborg have cleavage too?"

"Kindred spirit smash!" Nora answered waving her hammer joyously.

Ren shook his head. "Ten lien on Nora."

"I believe she already bet on her for you," Pyrrha said.

"Of course she did."

Back on the stage Nora loaded grenades into her hammer as the fighting across all the other rings stopped, the other combatants now more interested in learning of Genos's true capabilities than their own battles.

"I would like to do an in depth analysis of your hammer after this," Genos said. "I am fascinated by its design."

Nora smirked. "You don't need to wait that long. I'll show you now!"

She fired.

…

"So what's your name Captain?"

"Lieutenant."

Qrow breathed in deep to fake his surprise. "You look like a Captain to me."

Within metal plating and hardened plastic insulation. high tech screens and members of the Atlesian navy were both at work. This was a odd contrast to a sighing Ironwood, Saitama picking his nose, and Qrow failing to flirt with the airship's pilot.

"Are you insinuating that I am old?" the pilot asked with an insulted expression.

"No," Qrow said, "but you do look mature. A woman as compared to a girl."

A smile threatened to emerge on the pilot's face. "That…was terrible."

Qrow smirked. "Can't fault me for trying. So what's your name anyway."

"Lieutenant."

"Alright then Lieutenant-Lieutenant, I got a question for you."

"What."

Qrow leaned in next to her and drug his hand through his hair. "Is your skirt really approved by Atlas."

Rolling her eyes, the pilot jerked the controls slightly causing Qrow to slam nose first into the edge of her seat.

"Unexpected turbulence General," the pilot announced. "It should clear up soon."

Ironwood smiled. "I expected it will."

"So," Saitama asked. "What are we supposed to be doing up here again?"

"Well if either of you bothered to listen to me on the way here, we are supposed to be scouting out the area around the outskirts of the city. Altas is increasing the security perimeter of the festival and to ensure the safety of the citizens and students, we are going to make sure that there are no surprises out in the…the," Ironwood gave the savaged and badly repaired Forever Fall a distasteful frown. "…where the Forever Fall used to be."

"Yeah and your toy ships are supposed to keep them safe," Qrow said rubbing his nose. "You really think that they are going to just march out of the woods?"

"I think that there is a good possibility they might if we stop watching them," Ironwood said. "The Grimm aren't just animals Qrow. You know that."

Qrow scoffed. "And you know the real enemy here isn't the Grimm. There are infiltrators here working against us. Are your Atlas ships equipped to fight hidden wars as well?"

"If we don't give them any openings there won't be a need too?"

"If you don't give them openings?" Qrow laughed insultingly. "You are guarding one massive opening."

"We have guards stationed all over Beacon. We have new mechs deployed for the very purpose of keeping the festival safe. If someone wants to attack us from the inside, they damn well better be hiding an army under the city."

"That's your best defense?" Qrow asked. "Guards and machines. Why you're a genius General. Absolutely no one else would have thought of bringing in more personnel. I mean, beyond all the possible blunders, the fearmongering, and how you backstabbed Oz to get this spot, nothing could be better than your cunning little defense."

Popping was heard as Ironwood clenched his fists. "You are going to choose your next few words very carefully Qrow. What I did for the festival, and whatever you think I did to Ozpin, I did for the good of this Kingdom."

Qrow met Ironwood's furious eyes with a sneer of his own. "Well damn, Jimmy…now I don't know whether to pity you for being so damn delusional or get even more pissed off that a blind imbecile is in charge of our defenses."

Ironwood slammed his fist against the metallic interior of the ships inner hull leaving an imprint of his fist while his face remained blank. The caged rage in his eyes told a different story.

Qrow calmly drew his flask and downed a drink. "What're you gonna do General? It would be unprofessional to hit a guest aboard your ship. That's what you're all about right? Protocol."

"Protocol dictates that all impediments to the objective be removed."

Qrow smirked. "You sure you can do that alone General. Impediments might be a bit hard for you to deal with alone. Call specialist Schnee back and so you can screw this up with backup."

The distance between them disappeared, Ironwood's eyes found themselves mere inches away from Qrow's. In that moment, there was nothing that the General wanted more than to tear that insulting smirk off Qrow's face.

Beside the two, the staff aboard the bridge of the ship nervously attempted to continue about their business like nothing was happening. The awkward clearing of throats began as the Atlesian navy did their best to keep their façade of professionalism even as they felt a brawl about to develop on their bridge.

"So what about the lesson plan," Saitama asked.

The tension snapped.

"You're asking about that," Ironwood sighed, "Now?"

"When else?" Saitama asked. "If I don't ask now you two will be too busy having your pointless fight over who is more stupid."

Qrow and Ironwood broke their mutual glare to look at Saitama.

"Pointless," they both asked simultaneously, before sending the other a dirty look for the stolen response.

"Yeah. Both of you are supposed to be defenders of citizens, but all you two seem to do is argue about who is more wrong."

"He's an idiot who can't understanding the bigger picture!"

"He's a drunk who doesn't see what's at stake!"

They resumed their glare.

Saitama shook his head. "You two are like children."

"He's being a child," Ironwood and Qrow accused at the same time. Their mutual glare intensified.

Beside Saitama the Pilot faked a cough to hide her smile.

"I don't get the problem." Walking over from the widow towards the danger zone that inhabited Ironwood and Qrow, Saitama wondered if Ozpin knew that placing them all aboard this ship would cause such a ruckus. "You two are supposed to be heroes for the festival."

"Huntsman and military pawn," Qrow spat. "That's all we are. Don't get that confused with hero."

"You protect the people," Saitama said, "that makes you heroes."

Qrow rolled his eyes. "You actually believe that?"

"Yes."

Surprised. Qrow did not expect that. "Huh. You're a naive fool. I didn't take you for one."

"If either of you two won't accept the title then who will?" Saitama asked. "Heroes don't need to agree, or even like each other, they just need to protect the people. And not waste their time of trivial matters."

Reluctantly breaking his glare away from Ironwood again, Qrow shook his head. "Look, I don't know how things worked on your world, but here if we fail, if we waste any of our resources, if we misjudge where the treat is, an entire city can fall. You ever watch a city fall before?"

"Yes," Saitama admitted. "Several. One recently was destroyed."

"That was rhetorica—" Qrow choked. "Wait, what?"

Ironwood's eyebrow rose unexpectedly as his jaw dropped slightly. As unlikely as it was, it seemed that he and Qrow were in agreement.

…

In her exhilaration and excitement, Ren could see that Nora was incapable of understanding how outclassed she was. But knowing Nora, it wouldn't have matter either way; robo-fight would have been the first and only thought in her mind.

Her hammer marked the ground where Genos once was, filling the room with the sound of impact and flooding the air with force. Without missing a beat, Nora tracked Genos's position far above her, moving further and further away towards the other side of the ring.

If he thought he was going to get away that easily, he was a very silly cyborg.

Firing a grenade straight down on the ground, Nora accepted the slight cost that her aura had to pay to allow her follow her quarry. Soaring through the air and firing several more shots, each exploding in quick succession intensifying her velocity, Nora came after Genos like a beast upon a helpless lamb.

He boosted to the side. Nora went right past him.

If Ren was trying to master fluidity in combat, then Nora would be the composer of a storm of absolute chaos. Unfortunately for her, she seemed to often confuse herself as one of the notes as well, writing herself into her own narrative as she recklessly chased after Genos with abandon.

Crashing more than landing back into the ring hammer first, Nora pouted at the fleet figure that kept evading her. Genos was a slippery target, but there was a cure for that. A wicked expression of delight came over Nora.

Her hammer shifted and the barrel of her grenade launcher found itself at work again.

Firing explosives everywhere, Nora laughed as a shower of shrapnel and concussive grenade came down on Genos. However, what was a few seconds for Nora was almost hours for the adjustable perception that was his augmented mind. Within his own reality of thought, it took him a near instant before he discerned what type of grenades through his vision.

He launched himself at the grenades as a response.

For the first time in a long time, Nora blinked at another in confusion.

Catching each of the grenades and knocking them away from him and back at Nora, Genos began his own counteroffensive. Tossing the grenades at Nora several at a time, Nora deflected a few, but some went off around her knocking her backwards and forcing her into a defensive.

"What's to the only way to fight explosions," Nora asked herself as more of her Grenades went off around her. "….MORE EXPLOSIONS!"

And so Nora began her counter-counteroffensive against Genos by shooting more grenades at her own grenades.

It was a rather spectacular devastation. Force met force met fire in a cascade of fireworks that would have leveled a hill and made a hole.

"Guys," Jaune asked, "who's losing right now."

"The ring," Ren replied.

As the smoke and dust from the broken ring began to fade, to figures still stood. Nora fired one more grenade through the smoke.

Genos caught it in his hand and began to squeeze down on it. A few seconds later, smoke rose out from between Genos's fingers.

"Alright," Yang said, "that was pretty cool."

Undeterred by the ineffectiveness of her grenades, Nora decided that it was time she finished the fight with her newest special attack. "Cleavage blast."

Yanking her mess of pancakes Nora tossed it up in the air and launched it straight at Genos.

Unbeknownst to her however, Genos had developed a similar technique during her earlier battle. "Cleavage block!"

The rubbery uni-boob collided with pancakes in a spectacular mess between the two combatants. The sheer power of the impact between the two cleavages caused their forces to cancel out, leaving both to fall.

"Did they both just call out names for their cleavage based attacks?" Weiss asked.

"I believe so," Pyrrha answered, not sounding so certain.

Weiss shook her head but didn't look away for a second. "This is simultaneously one of the most stupid and amazing things I have ever seen."

In a blink of an eye, Nora reached out and caught her cleavage with the tip of her hammer, stuffing it back down her blouse.

Before said blink of an eye, Genos had already brushed, re-inflated, and reattached his own cleavage.

"I see you have been learning from the master," Nora said while stuffing the crushed mess down her blouse again.

"It was indeed an unexpected move," Genos admitted. "Few adversaries would expect it."

"But you did," Nora said raising her free hand and clenching a fist. "This is why we are kindred spirits ro-bud. This is why it has to be this way!"

Genos nodded. "We will honor master's teachings to the end."

Nora's launcher reverted to her hammer. "For cleavage."

With a mighty battle cry and a greater leap, Nora brought her hammer down at where Genos was. She found him standing beside her.

"Raising the hammer like that decreases your speed and effectiveness by 40%," Genos said.

Nora placed scratched her chin with her hammer thoughtfully before swinging at Genos again. "How's this."

Genos flipped over the hammer and Nora. "Bette—" Genos blinked.

Nora was spinning. Genos tilted his head.

"Ren," Pyrrha asked. "Is Nora doing that new attack of her's?"

"Yes," Ren said, "the Nora-cyclone-slothblaster-cyclone-jet-spinner-extreme-spinspin."

Everyone stared at him.

"How do you remember all that?" Blake asked.

"Nora speaks in her sleep. A lot."

Grenades flew out in all directions while she was spinning at random, Nora propelled herself towards Genos in bursts spontaneous explosions, giggling all the way.

She still wasn't fast enough to pose an issue of speed, but anticipating her direction, her position, became an impossibility even for Genos. Another grenade went off launching the spinning Nora bouncing at Genos. Several more grenades exploded while she was in mid-air causing her to defy physics several more times, curving at Genos instead of taking the straight path.

Genos narrowed his eyes.

Sliding under Nora as sparks rained out from the contact between, Genos boosted across at moderate levels of speed. He could have gone faster, but Genos felt an obligation to respect Nora's skill and fight on a somewhat even level.

"GOTCHA!" Nora cried as she came out of her spin, catching the full brunt of the force from another grenade with the back of her hammer, sending her down like a missile. But it seemed like she was too late, Genos had already slid past her and her descent was to be in vain.

Then, right before she was about to hit the ground, she slammed her hammer down prematurely, cracking the ground and pushing herself forward right at Genos.

"CLLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEAAAAVVVVAGGGGGGEEEEE!" Nora roared, hammer over her head.

Genos's eyes widened. He had underestimated her. The hammer came down.

The floor behind Genos cracked. Static and electric sparks leaped off the cackling Nora and into her hammer before dancing their way out into the air around her. What followed was a blast of pure force between them as the ground around them peeled away like the skin of a fruit before blowing off as ash.

Dust and smoke covered the two combatants again, obscuring them from sight. More students burst into the gym, as Yang continued to send mass invites with one hand, badly misspelling most of her words in her haste.

Blake patted Yang on her shoulder.

"Hold on," Yang said, "I'm not done sending this."

Blake reached over and lifted Yang's face by the chin.

Genos stood, Nora's hammer stopped dead in one hand like it was child's toy. His other, outstretched with his incinerator on.

A torrent of fire screamed into existence washing over Nora's face.

A tunnel of fire. That was all that Nora could see. Her aura fell into the red.

The fire died. Smoke and embers danced around Nora's stunned face and steam rose from her head.

"Whoa," Ruby breathed. Beside her Weiss blinked, still trying to put together all that had transpired. "Did you see that"

Weiss blinked. "I—he moved—wasn't he about to be hit?"

Ren's mouth opened slightly and closed. Nora was chaotic, messy, and single-minded in her pursuit of her adversaries but slow was never a trait that she embodied. Yet, here she was, completely outpaced a thousand times over. It was like the distance between a bolt of lightening and a rock.

The incinerator powered off.

Nora let out a shaky breath. "That was-that" her voice suddenly rose, "that was the single most awesomest moment of my entire life! You were there! And then you were here! And-and I thought I had you! Ha! I knew it! I knew fighting the robot-guy was going to be worth it! I am right or am I right Ren!"

Ren shrugged and gave her a thumbs up.

Genos released his hold on her hammer. "You were impressive as well. I was unable to anticipate your actions towards the end. You forced me into a defensive."

Nora gave him a huge belly laugh and lifted him off the floor in the bear hug. "Ummph. You're kinda heavy."

Genos looked down at her, suspended off the ground awkwardly in her arms. Turning to Ruby for advice, all he got from her was a shrug of her shoulder.

"Nora," Ren called out, "its getting weird for him. Put him down."

Nora complied. "Totally worth it."

"Are you not disappointed?" Genos asked.

"What? Pah! Who cares! I got to fight a robot with cleavage! Oh! That reminds me," Nora reached down her shirt and pulled out the pulped ball of pancakes that constituted her extra bust, "This is yours now. You have proven to have the superior cleavage ro-bud. I salute you!"

Then, without another word, Nora placed the pancake ball on Genos's chest, right next to his mound, and pushed. The mess stuck to his chest, hanging loosely and bleeding syrup right next to his other bust. Genos was speechless, Nora patted her pancakes, whispered goodbye to them with a hint of sadness, and promptly ran out of the ring.

"Thanks for the brawl ro-bud," Nora said, "let's do this again!"

Genos looked down at her "I—thank you?"

Below, Yang snickered with mirth, nudging Weiss repeatedly with her elbow much to Weiss's displeasure. "It's not too late to ask him for an enhancement Snow Angel. I'm sure he's nice enough to share now he has two."

"Continue prodding me like this," Weiss hissed, "and I will cut your hair while you sleep."

"You wouldn't dar—"

Weiss's expression was gravely serious. Yang defensively and slowly moved away.

Running his fingers across his newly gained cleavage, Genos caught himself smiling. Though it was a spontaneous experience filled with mayhem and damage, Genos was happy. Looking down at some of the cheering students and a single frowning Ren begrudgingly pushing over his credit chit to Yang, Genos felt an odd sensation that he couldn't quite place.

They accepted him. They saw him as a friend.

Genos hadn't really had a friend before.

Wishing to leave his thoughts down on paper, Genos began his own walk off the ring amid the cheers of those who had witnessed this spectacle, only to be stopped before he even made it halfway.

"Hey!" Yang cried out, "You're not done yet."

Understanding come into Genos's mind. It seemed that there was another challenger. "You wish to train too."

Yang ran her hands through her hair. "You can call it that. Come on chrome, let's go a few. You'd like that wouldn't you."

Her grin was a cocky one.

Genos thought it fit her well. "You are not mistaken."

...

 _Dork Notice: Rushed bit maybe, wifi horribad. Suffering greatly. Edit maybe. Update soon definite. Possibly._


	11. The Calm Part 3

**_Author's Note: OWNER I AM NOT. JUST A HUMAN BEING…A REAL HUMAN BEING_**

The Calm…

Part III: Calm Harder

Ember Celica brought pleasurable warmth to Yang's hands as it unfolded out of Yang's braclets. Loading bullets into the gauntlets' chambers, Yang felt that familiar warmth be met with familiar weight as well. It wasn't the most exotic weapon around, but it did its work and besides, Yang was never interested in having a peerless weapon.

She would much rather be the peerless weapon.

A burst of two shotguns accompanied by shells bouncing off the floor told Genos that Yang was on her way up to the ring. Loud pops resounded throughout the chamber as Yang cracked her knuckles casually.

"Alrighty then," Yang said grinning as she got into her stance. "Let's have a brawl."

"Wait."

Yang's hands lowered again. All eyes were on Pyrrha. "I'm—I'm sorry for interrupting but," Pyrrha looked down and struggled through her blush, "I want to join in as well."

Ruby's eyes grew wider and grinned even harder. Her sister and Pyrrha against Genos? This should be pay-per-view. The gasps from the other students indicated that they did not fare much better at this surprise.

"Ok," Genos said. "Come up then."

More gasps. Whispers and drifting eyes all revolved around Genos, conversing, mocking, and admiring his sheer audacity at accepting a fight so handicapped that if it were a person, it would be eligible to receive a full-ride scholarship to Atlas.

Pyrrha shot up out of her seat waste no time. Her weapons were already on her from earlier in the day while she was instructing Jaune on how to use his shield more and face less for taking hits. She was only moderately successful.

Her ascension to the ring was a dignified affair, a single leap followed by a whisper of landing, almost as if some force was keeping her from coming down on the ground too hard. Yang gave her a smirk.

"Wow, already trying to upstage me here with that neat little hop huh," Yang said, taking on a mockingly hurt tone, "it isn't enough that I was going to give you a little preview of what you would be seeing in the tournament that you had to come here and see for yourself?"

Horror enveloped Pyrrha's features as embarrassment and shame spread across her face. "What? No," Pyrrha said. "It's nothing like that…it's just, it seemed like Nora was having so much fun—"

"SO! MUCH!" Nora's bellowed from her seat.

"—and I wanted to—"

"Pyrrha," Yang said rolling her eyes while nudging Pyrrha playfully, "I was teasing you. Come one, let's have some fun."

Reciprocating Yang's cocky smirk with a small nod, Pyrrha drew her shield from her back and extended Milo into its spear form. Beside her, Yang slowly pulled into her stance again, feeling the friction as her rear leg drug against the ring.

"Are you both ready?" Genos asked.

"Yep," Yang said, "sweet of you to wait on us though."

"It is no issue. Would you like me refrain from using my incinerators? Though it is on a low setting the heat could still be uncomfortable."

"HE'S NOT LYING!" Nora added.

"It doesn't matter to me either way," Yang grinned. "Nothing's hotter than me, chrome."

Genos's incinerators flared to life briefly before fading away; he had decided to challenge himself to thrive without any of his extended augmentations. The main point is to learn from this battle, not to overpower his foes. Genos limited himself. "So you say."

Taking their positions Yang and Pyrrha watched Genos as he studied them in return. Oddly, it was the audience that held all the tension in this fight; none of the combatants seemed to possess any worry.

"He is likely faster than both of us," Pyrrha said, "but if we rotate and consistently apply pressure on him, he may never get the chance—"

"Pyrrha," Yang interrupted with a sweet smile. "Let's just hit him."

Wide-eyed, Pyrrha blinked at the bluntness of Yang before a small smile of her own found its way onto her face. "Very well. Let's hit him."

"Can we begin?" Genos asked.

Yang answered him with Ember Celica's roar. "Yep."

He was already gone. Yang blinked. "Well dam—"

A sudden impact knocked her aside, sending her sprawling across the ring. "—amm"

Pyrrha was only sparred the same fate when she noticed the blurred form of Genos with the corner of her eye.

Raising her shield, she felt the staggering impact immediately, forcing her to parry the blow. Metal met metal as Genos drew his fist away from Pyrrha's shield. Thrusting Milo out at him, Pyrrha began to make time for her to formulate a plan of attack. Pyrrha thrusted Milo in spear form at him, but found empty air. Swinging it horizontally and then vertically before ending with several stabs, Pyrrha found each strike echoing useless against Genos's arms.

He was vastly faster than she thought. Adrenaline rushed through Pyrrha's veins as she realized that she was only still standing because Genos was holding back. She, the Invincible Girl, was for the at drastic disadvantage for the first time in her life. She relished at the challenge.

Genos caught a stab an inch away from his face. Pyrrha responded by pulling the trigger. Milo roared gifted Genos's face with a high powered round capable of punching a hole through a Ursa's hide at four hundred meters with ease.

It bounced off his head just like her strikes did his arm. Genos reached out and caught the shell in his hands before pocketing it. He could study that later.

Shifting her spear into a sword, its length shrank as it slid out of Genos's hand in pace with Pyrrha taking a step back while thrusting her shield into his chest. Her bash found his palm instead.

Stopping Pyrrha's blow one hand, Genos analyzed the structure of Pyrrha's shield.

He might've have been able to learn something if Yang didn't decide to interject by throwing a straight right at the back of Genos's head. Her fist smashed against Pyrrha's shield as Genos reappeared behind her with heat and smoke rising from his form.

Without a second to waste, Yang and Pyrrha were upon him.

Ember Celica rang shouted its delightful rhythm for the first time that day. Unusually however was the sight of several small blurs chasing a rather large blur; Yang's fists followed after Genos's constantly fading form, always too slow, slowly getting on Yang's nerves.

Beside her, Pyrrha was better at keeping up with where Genos was, but found her assault lacking as Milo failed its duty against Genos's augmented frame.

"Come on chrome," Yang grunted between punches, "no one likes a runner."

She didn't expect him to agree with her so quickly.

To a good boxer, true danger isn't in the hard and wild punches from a man the size of a mountain, but one that you just don't see coming landing clean. Thankfully for Yang, though Genos had the speed to make it possible, he lacked to skill to stop it from being visible.

All Yang got as a warning was the sudden disappearance of Genos's hand as he pulled his fist back. It was enough.

Jerking her head slightly out of the way of a rocket of a haymaker, Yang felt a great gust of wind scream past her. She didn't even feel that much wind when she rode her bike.

The force of the first punch was nothing compared to the force of the second. Barely ducking under it in time, Yang's hair flowed wildly, obeying the chaotic hook cutting through the air.

The third, the fastest of all his sloppy punches, would have connected if not for Pyrrha knocking it off its mark at the last moment with a ricochet toss of her shield. Still, Yang briefly felt the heat of his fist near his chin.

In any other fight, against most other opponents, Yang would have been considered the heavy hitter. In this case however, even she realized how outmatched she was in terms of raw power. Frowning, Yang buried the pride burning in her gut temporarily and decided that a new strategy was in order.

Shifting her stance and creating some distance with a few quick jabs of her own, she made a scurried retreat with Pyrrha, covering each other with suppressive fire. With each one of their steps, Genos seemed to blink out of existence and appear elsewhere on the ring as rifle rounds and incendiary shot pellets were wasted. Observing them, but never approaching closer, it was clear that he was letting them gather themselves.

Yang whistled at Genos's afterimages. "He is pretty fast."

"Indeed," Pyrrha said, eyes focused on tracking Genos, "but he does lack technique."

"Noticed that. He punches like a rocket. A sloppy rocket."

Pyrrha chuckled. "He also doesn't alternate his path too much." With a few points of her spear, Pyrrha showed Yang the path of Genos's travels between his disappearances.

"Good eye," Yang said. "Let's corner him."

"And then?" Pyrrha asked.

Yang made punching motions and wiggled her eyebrows gleefully.

"Perhaps we could try a more focused approach?"

Yang hummed. "Got anything special in mind."

"There is more than one way to lose," Pyrrha said, "I don't think we can beat him directly. But…" Pyrrha motioned towards the edge of the ring. "I think if you can slow him down somehow, I can get a hold on him." Yang understood. The game was afoot.

Dashing over towards Genos's general location, Yang reared her right fist up as Genos blinked right past her, and brought it straight down on the ground. Her strength enhanced aura expanded into the area around her and pushed out above the reinforced alloy and concrete that made the ring. To the audience beneath, the strike seemed to do nothing.

For Pyrrha, it was all that was needed.

Stalled more by a curiosity to study the aspects of aura than the actual potency of Yang's force, Genos lessen his thrusts. He still wasn't visible to the untrained eye.

Pyrrha is anything but untrained. Her body bore the superb conditioning from years of combat, her aura, tireless from constant practices. However, it was her third weapon, beyond those that she wielded in her hands that allowed her sovereign command over magnetism. Pyrrha's mind sensed Genos in his entirety, from the hardened armor that was his skin, to the synthetic fragments within his core that was so faint that she almost missed them.

Her mind met her will. Her mind became her might. Her technique wielded her might. Pyrrha reached out to Genos, but did not grasp him whole. Instead, she took a far more focused approach.

Without warning, Genos lost control over the movement of his joints. His legs gave out under him as his hip jerked in an odd manner while his ankles bent out. His jaw met the ground first, and he bounced off the floor again, being lifted up by an unseen force.

His jaw met Yang's fist directly for the first time that day as Genos stumbled back in confusion at how he found himself in his current situation.

Someone was remotely manipulating his joints to throw him off balance.

Yang grinned. "Clench your teeth if you know what's good for you chrome."

Genos tried to move but some unnatural force unbalancing his joints and causing him to wobble. A shield promptly struck him on the back of his head at the same moment Yang threw a left hook into his undefended face. Several students watching the fight winced at the blows Genos just took.

Genos just frowned.

The simultaneous impact told Genos that he was stuck in the middle of what was to be a very furious onslaught. Instinctively, Genos activated his thrusters and sought to seek a better position to fight from, but he stopped himself. He would do and as master did for him during their sparring session, and accommodate his foes. It would be touching if both Yang and Pyrrha weren't busy attempting to remodel him at that moment.

And though Genos was by magnitudes faster and more powerful than both of his adversaries, being held through magnetism forced him into a direct standing confrontation against Yang and Pyrrha. Genos was a cyborg, a technological wonder, a walking weapon, and a hero of immense power. However, what he wasn't was properly trained.

And like his speed and power, there was a difference in magnitude between his level of skill as compared to Yang or Pyrrha's, and they let him know that with each and every blow that graced his nigh impenetrable hull.

Yang weaved under his wild hooks, and side-stepped his haymakers, punishing him with brutal combinations of straights, jabs, hooks, uppercuts, and the occasional kick. Ember Celica sang its notes faster than a machine gun. A storm of fists met Genos's outpaced guard. It soon looked like fireworks were going off all over his face.

"Go Yang!" Ruby cried before wincing at a particularly hard punch. "Hang in there Genos!"

Pyrrha became an even greater issue as she always attacked from Genos's blind spot, leaving him without a clue where the next strike was going to come from. Sparks came from where her spear met his neck before her sword struck the back of his knee so that her shield could come down on the side of his skull. Turning with a wild swing, Genos his arm speed towards where Pyrrha's face would be only to have it barely miss over her head as Yang hammered where his liver once was from behind for turning his back to her.

As another onslaught was ejected, Genos found himself with no true pain but full of frustration as brief flashes of a shield and flowing blonde hair were all that he got to see of his foes.

There was no denying it; all things being equal besides skill, he was merely target practice.

So Genos waited and plotted as they unleashed their full repertoire of violence upon him, accepting the blows and learning from every impact. Then, he saw it: the opening. A single nanosecond that was the gap between Yang's different combinations before her position shifted again to throw him off balance. That was when he would strike.

As Yang landed another triumphant set right after Pyrrha's, ending with a hard straight at where his solar plexus once was, she suddenly felt Genos's unyielding fingers clamp down at her outstretched elbow, pulling her in towards him.

Even Yang's raised guard couldn't stop the sheer force of Genos's palm colliding into her chest, launching her off the side of the ring like a bullet.

"Yang!"

An unseen force curved Yang through the air, dragging her fist first through the metal composing her gauntlets. Like a missile, she shot towards Genos, smashing down where he was far too late.

The moment that Pyrrha diverted her attention to ensure Yang's continued participation, her hold on Genos ceased to be. Pyrrha came to know of his renewed freedom as his elbow slashed across her chin, draining her aura severely. Staggered but not beaten, Pyrrha exaggerated a stumbling step to give Genos to confidence to commit to another attack.

And when he did, she guided it off course with her shield and magnetically swept his feet out from under with a wave of Milo. A hard kick from Yang right into Genos's midsection sent him grinding against the ring towards the edge as a crushing burden fell, leaving him held down. Genos struggled against the hold, but soon learned that Pyrrha's strength of magnetism was quite encompassing. If he wished to escape, he would have to use his thrusters along with more of his core's power.

So he just lay there, with his head inching slowly over the edge.

"He's holding back?" Blake wondered quietly to herself. "Why?"

"Sorry about this chrome," Yang said with an unapologetic smile as she looked over the edge and back at Genos. "but I am going to have to knock you down a peg here."

Genos contemplated taking the fight more seriously, perhaps actually trying to fight back. He had the power forcibly break through his current helplessness if he chose to show it. He could lift himself by the power of his thrusters alone and run through both of his foes before they could even see him. He could melt the ring and the miles of earth beneath it. He could blind them with his lightening eye augmentations. He could stop pretending to be an equal, and just win.

Genos chose not to. If he was to lose for his choice, then so be it.

Power isn't everything.

Genos's eyes widened.

" _Power,"_ Saitama's voice and face flashed through his head. _"…is like cleavage."_

Genos's jaw dropped open as Saitama's wisdom echoed through his heart. How could he have been so blind, so foolish. Master would be ashamed that he took this long to comprehend the most basic lesson of power.

"I—I understand now," Genos breathed. "I understand master's lesson."

"Uh chrome," Yang said, "gonna push you off now. No hard feelings okay?"

Genos turned to Yang with an enlightened smile. "You will not win." It wasn't said as a boast, nor as promise, or with any gravitas whatsoever. It was simply to the truth. Yang raised an eyebrow.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Yang asked, unnerved by the out of place smile on Genos's face. "Chrome?"

"You are strong. She is skilled. But neither of you can see-"

Pyrrha looked at Yang who just shrugged. "He might be troubleshooting?" Yang guessed.

"—the ways of cleavage!"

Turning her head back to question Genos if she needed to get him tech support, she took the full brunt of what left of Nora's pancake cleavage right to the face. Fate spited her further by letting the last juices of syrup ooze into her eyes, causing her eyelashes to stick together and blinding her temporarily. Yang was stunned.

Ruby gasped. "Oh, Genos, what have you done. Syrup in her hair…"

"Yang!" Pyrrha cried.

The thrusters in Genos's leg screamed as he sent himself upward in an arch against Pyrrha's hold, with the intention of coming down on Yang. Without a moment to waste, Pyrrha already had her shield drawn and was speeding towards the blinded Yang. Genos felt Pyrrha's hold on him break away.

Nora gasped and lifted her arms in victory. "My cleavage helped Ren! Jaune look, Pyrrha is going to lose because my cleavage. …Jaune, does this make me a cleavage traitor for helping Genos win?"

Jaune looked to Ren for answers and received none. "Maybe an accessory?" Jaune answered unsure.

Nora took a deep and satisfying breath while taking in the chaos unfolding in part because of her. "I can live with that."

It was time for the second part of his plan.

Instead of a titanic impact, all Pyrrha got was a brief blow that forced her shield over her face. Genos took that opportunity to roll over her raised shield.

Eyes widening, Pyrrha suddenly understood what Genos was planning: Yang was bait and she took it. Scrambling too late to find and unbalance Genos again with her magnetism, Pyrrha felt the unmistakable of Genos's incinerator inches away from her.

She had been deceived. Pyrrha's lowered her head with a smile and accepted her defeat gracefully. Instead of a dignified defeat, what she got was a detached mound into to the face, suction cup first.

Pyrrha's gave a loud muffled yelp as darkness came over her and in her haste to pry the mound off her face, she accidentally shifted Milo between spear and sword several times.

One of these shifts caught a few particularly sticky few locks of Yang's golden hair.

"Ow! Agh!" Yang screamed more in fear than pain as she felt herself getting pulled along by her hairs. "Stop! It'll come off."

Cries of terror and shouts for Pyrrha to stop moving erupted from almost every student in the arena, much to Genos's confusion. He was still an innocent soul, and was untainted by the great comb rampage, in which a comb pulled out a single strand of Yang's hair. Pyrrha, who was a survivor and instrumental in the calming of Yang during her comb rampage was still unaware of the danger she was in.

She pulled even harder at the mound on her face.

"NO!" Ruby cried in pure horror, "Pyrrha don't!"

With a hard yank, Pyrrha finally ripped the mound off her face with a resounding pop that echoed through the room. Yang was dragged along with the yank. Everyone held their breath.

Thankfully the hair didn't separate from Yang.

Ruby collapsed back in her chair as cold sweat dripped down her forehead. "Whew. That was a close on—"

A small shot of fire flared between Yang and Pyrrha. Everything slowed down as Genos lowered his palm to catch the severed locks. "It's okay," Genos said assuaging Yang. "You are separated now."

"No," Ruby breathed, "no…"

Blake just shook her head. "Here we go."

Back in the ring, Pyrrha looked at Milo and then at Yang's smoking hair. She got very pale. "Genos, you need to leave."

"Why?" Genos asked, growing more and more confused at the situation. All he did was stop Yang's continued pain. He even stopped the fight to help them severe the hair. Was assistance somehow taboo in this culture? Had he offended them by not continuing the battle?

"Where is it?"

Everyone stopped whatever they were doing. Several teams huddled closer together for safety.

"Where is it?" Yang said again, syrup in her eyes while her fingers searched for her hair. "Pyrrha. Where is it?"

"Yang," Pyrrha said softly, "don't get mad."

"It's not there anymore Pyrrha," Yang said, audibly distraught, "where did it go!"

"The hair?" Genos asked. "I have it."

Pyrrha's stomach dropped.

The syrup that once had Yang's eyelashes stuck together was burned away. When Yang opened her eyes again, they were filled with red.

"How could you," Yang said, eyes screaming murder at Genos, who began to feel slightly uncomfortable.

With her locks still in his palm, Genos wondered what he did to make her so mad.

"Genos run!" Ruby shouted. Leaping out of her seat, Ruby sought to make a dash for the ring to soothe Yang's fury, but was held in place by two arms.

"Weiss!" Ruby cried, "let go!"

"No," Weiss said with a tone of severity, grabbing and shaking Ruby by the collar, "it's too late for him, you know that! You go in there and you won't come back."

"Weiss we have to help him!"

Weiss gave the ring a hopeless expression. "Only Oum can help him now."

Blake shook her head and moved a seat away from her team.

Detecting a sudden surge in heat, Genos frowned and wondered if his incinerator were overheating before his eyes came upon the new star that was Yang. "How dare you," Yang growled as her hair crackled and glowed. "How dare you!"

Genos's mouth fell slightly agape as Yang exploded with heat and fire. For a moment Genos pondered his actions and how Yang somehow caught fire without any flames around. "Is this because I removed your hair?"

Yang's eye twitched as Genos once again reminded her of his unforgivable sin.

Her fists came together with a loud bang. Genos's took a step back he felt the vibrations from her fists ring deep inside him. His eyes widened as her temperature skyrocketed and she literally began to burn.

Her eyes saw nothing else but her prey.

A primal cry came out of her as the area around her began to melt and the air caught fire.

Excessive heat and kinetic energy leapt off her person as Yang left a trail of fire in her warpath towards Genos. Abandoning technique, skill, and reason, Yang came down on Genos with punches and rage.

Small explosions shook Genos all over his body and Yang threw hundreds of punches in seconds, her fists filling the air burying Genos with fire. Of course it would be more impressive if he actually reacted to the hits instead of just thinking about how removing her hair was such a mortal offense. Actually, him wondering made Yang even more made as hundreds of fists became thousands with a few kicks thrown in.

From the perspective of those offstage, it seemed like there was an Atlas firebombing mission happening across the ring.

"Yang," Pyrrha cried out, casting her influence over Ember Celica, "calm down. He did not intend this."

Growling Yang pulled and pushed against Pyrrha's control. "He must pay!"

Unable to free her hands for Pyrrha's death grip, Yang went after Genos with the next best thing. Her head came down like a hammer towards Genos's nose.

It found Pyrrha's shield instead. "Yang, stop."

Yang snarled and head butted Pyrrha's shield again to no avail.

The red in Yang's eyes flashed with a unified spark of fire as her right fist began to glow. Pyrrha backed away slowly as Genos continued to take turns looking at Yang and then down at her severed hair. It took him an embarrassingly long time for him to consider that Yang just really, really liked her hair.

Blake sighed as every bit of fire and heat swirled and converged on one position. "She actually doing it. Here comes the 'Big Yang'."

"The 'Big Yang'?" Jaune asked out loud.

"She came up with it during practical physics class," Blake said. "Tried a few times during practice. Never thought she would get it to work though."

Into her fist, into a single round in her gauntlet, Yang's aura surged like a dam bursting apart. She was putting every last blow, every little scrape, every moment of pain, every ounce of fury she had together into one big punch.

She was giving Genos the _Big Yang_.

The golden radiance of Yang's fire slowly found itself being drawn away from her body into her right fist. As her hair lost its luster, her fist blazed brighter than the sun in the middle of july blinding all those in the room and bathing her in brightness. All that Genos could see of Yang now was her two red eyes, full of rage and not much else.

Realizing what was about to happen, Pyrrha lifted her shield and crouched behind it as she bent the steel within the ring to form a protective cocoon around her.

Genos lowered his arms and widened his eyes. Photons. His optics were picking up photons firing off of her.

The light emanating out of her wasn't artificial, but actual sunlight. Genos felt his jaw go slightly slack as he pondered the implications of this even as her fist came closer and closer to him, brighter than anything he had seen before. A nanosecond before impact, his scans told him that her fist in that moment was composed more like a star than a human hand.

A lance of pure devastation struck Genos. When Yang's fist made contact with his chest, the world turned white. The metal in the ring melted away like wax and the concrete turned to sludge as a wave of hyper heated force swept across the stage. Deep inside her layered cocoon, Pyrrha felt a wetness come over her. Droplets of melted metal mixed with her sweat rolled down her body. All those in the audience found themselves momentarily blinded; an explosion of white enveloped them. And then in like how quick its was unleashed, the flames went away. Naught but smoke and ruins remained.

What remained of the ring gave way, separating into three parts that broke into several more before they even met the ground.

Silence was the only companion to the crumbling of the ring.

"Yang?" Ruby called out rubbing her eyes. "Genos? Pyrrha?"

She received no reply.

Under the cover of smoke, Yang lay amongst the ruins, gasping desperately for breath while swallowing spit, fighting the urge to vomit. Cold sweat and aching agony made her existence pure pain. She had pushed herself too far.

Slowly, she tried pushing herself up but fell right back down. Darkness began to eat away at the corner of her vision and bright spots filled her sight. She was spent.

She didn't know how long she lay there until her fingers were stepped on.

"Yang?" Pyrrha coughed as she pushed through smoke and dust. "Yang?"

"Ow," Yang answered hoarsely. "Hi Pyrrha. Could you be a pal and get off my hand?"

"Oh I'm sorry," Pyrrha said apologetically, reaching down to help Yang back to her feet. "Are you alright?"

Yang chuckled. "Been through wors—aghh."

"What's wrong?" Pyrrha asked. "Are you injured?"

"No. Just—cramping all over and about to pass out."

Grunting with exhaustion, Yang pulled herself back up to her feet with Pyrrha's help. If Pyrrha wasn't there to stabilize her, she would have met the floor again. "We really did a number on this place huh?"

"Indeed," Pyrrha agreed. "Though it was mostly just you hitting Genos—Genos!"

Yang's eyes widened. "You didn't see him."

Pyrrha shook her head.

"Damn. Chrome? You out there?"

Nothing.

"Chrome? Your alive right? Chrome?"

Worry welled up within her as silence continued to greet her. Genos wouldn't have been hurt by that. Yang felt shame stab at her insides: her rage had made her its servant again. She didn't even consider what harm she could have done. "Genos?" There was no answer.

Yang really wanted to throw up now.

Then, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Yang turned.

"Sorry," Genos said. "I had to get part of the ring off me."

He stood there, slightly dirtied by the dust but in perfect condition beyond that. There wasn't a mark on him, and not a hint of exhaustion in his form. As he opened his palm, a few locks of her hair lay, gold smeared by dirt and destruction, but still intact from the last attack.

Yang blinked. She looked back up at Genos and down at her intact hair. "It—I-"

Pyrrha looked nervously between Genos and Yang, fighting the urge to magnetically separate the two before they renewed their combat once more.

"I would have never severed your hair so callously if I knew," Genos said awkwardly.

Yang was silent for a few moments, her eyes studying Genos intently before she tentatively reached out and pinched the strands of hair out of his palm. Rubbing the strands with her fingers Yang stood there in suffering silence, uncertain how to respond.

She clenched a fist.

Pyrrha tensed up.

And Genos received a light affectionate jab to the shoulder. "Dammit chrome. Why'd you have make it so hard for me to be mad at you?"

Pyrrha let out a breath of relief.

"Am I-" Genos asked

Yang sighed. "Yeah don't sweat it—oh who am I kidding, I should be the one apologizing here anyway. We—uh—I got carried away a bit and…"

As if on cue, a few more bits of steel scrap and concrete chunks groaned before breaking off the base of the ruined combat ring. More dust came up into the air.

"Yeah."

"It is no issue," Genos said. "It was a very educational encounter. You both allowed me to learn much about aura and combat."

"Glad you enjoyed getting hit by me as much as I enjoyed doing hitting," Yang said. "Even though it did next to nothing."

"It was a good attempt."

Yang snickered. "First time anyone has ever told me that after a fight."

"Well," Pyrrha said tired, "I do believe that we all got the 'workout' that we so desired."

A few coughs caused the three to turn. Through the dust, Ruby emerged rubbing her eyes.

"Well," Ruby said, "you guys sure showed that ring."

Yang laughed weakly.

Genos, Yang, and Pyrrha emerged from the dust shoulder to shoulder with Ruby walking right beside them. The assembled students looked on in awe and muted respect as the three trudged up the steps leading up into the stands. As they continued their back to where teams RWBY and JNPR were seated, a student picked up his staff and struck the floor with it.

He gave Genos a nod.

Beside him, another clanged her mace against her gauntlet. In the back, another student tapped his gun against his seat. Soon, the sounds were aligned as those in the room used their weapons to give the three a Hunter's applause, with more and more joining in across the room. There were no words spoken: the synchronized beat weapons said enough.

Genos and Yang were not used to this kind of respect. Pyrrha felt embarrassed by how familiar the sound was to her.

Making their way back to where Jaune was sitting with the two teams, bouncing his sword off his shield, a single person at the back of the room made her presence known with a single step.

The moment she was seen the applause stopped. Fear began.

Her footsteps clicked as she descended the stairs down to where team RWBY and JNPR were. Each click seemed to mock the applause that had come before. Yang looked up and wished she didn't.

"Hi Professor Goodwitch," Yang said with her best fake smile. "Have—have you been watching us?"

"Yes," said Glynda with her rest crop idle in her right hand. Yang audibly gulped.

"I know it-" Yang said. "It got out of hand."

Glynda lifted her riding crop and aimed it at the ring. "So it would seem."

Behind them, the ring put itself back together, knitting beams of steel, reforming concrete, and regenerating the rubber at the top of the ring. Each shatter piece was lifted off the ground, as time seemed to rewind and unmake the destruction of the ring. Within seconds, the ring was remade like it was new and untouched. Genos gasped audibly. "Incredibl-"

"Did you ever train for combat back where you were from?" Glynda asked, cutting into Genos's admiration for her ability.

Genos blinked. "I have a plethora of augmentations—"

"So no proper training then. That part was obvious. You were completely outmatched when you tried to face two vastly inferior opponents with your skill alone. If you weren't so well armored, you wouldn't even be standing right now."

Criticism. Genos was not used to such outright critiques against his methods. Embarrassment reigned over him as Glynda continued.

"You probably could have emptied both their auras easily considering what you seem to be capable of. But that leaves you with nothing when you are faced with something stronger than yourself."

Memories of all his prior defeats came back to haunt him with Glynda's words. Was his skill that woefully low? Time and time again, he had lost, either due to carelessness, overconfidence, or just the unfortunate fact that he wasn't powerful enough. Glynda had found the most glaring fault in him: a reliance on power and power alone.

"You should try to learn how to fight. I can't say that you will find many that can pose a threat to you in this world, but if you ever encounter someone who does, the fight will not end with you emerging the victor."

Finishing with Genos, Glynda turned her penetrating gaze to Pyrrha. "Ms. Nikos. Excellent job throwing a foe of greater power off balance. Good use of technique. Brilliant defense. Abysmal decision making."

The last sentence struck Pyrrha in the gut.

"Tell me, who side were you on in this fight?"

"I was helping Yan—"

"No, you defended Genos when she lost control."

"I couldn't—"

"There is no matter with you defending him. I understand this is just a sparring session. What I cannot fathom is why you didn't remove your new foe from the ring once you made your choice. Miss Xiao Long was obviously not in control of herself."

Pyrrha didn't have anything to say.

"You cannot have it both ways," Glynda said. "Miss Xiao Long cannot be friend and foe with accordance to her mood. Pick your fights and make your choice. Wavering will leave you flanked on all sides instead of just one. You understand this, now apply it."

Silence continued its rule over Pyrrha as she nodded in obedience.

Her eyes fell on Yang next. They narrowed slightly. "Who are you Miss Xiao Long."

Yang froze and then shrugged. "A student?"

"No," Glynda interrupted. "Who. Are. You."

"A really dirty blonde right now," Yang said, nervously trying to inject so levity into the conversation. Glynda's unwavering gaze brought a terrible chill on instead as she continued to stare right into Yang's eyes. "A—a brawler?"

Glynda rolled her hand as if to tell Yang to go further.

"A huntress?"

"Yes," Glynda said, "that is what you are supposed to be isn't it?"

"Yes?" Yang asked more than said.

Glynda's stare grew even colder. "Then why don't you act like one. You will lose a lot more than your hair in this life. If that makes you a slave to your own emotions, then you likely won't have a very long career. I suggest you win your internal fight before you set foot in the ring next time." Glynda's stare briefly touched Genos again. "You won't have an adversary that openly cares about your feelings in the tournament."

Yang swallowed and looked down at the ground. She couldn't keep eye contact with Glynda anymore.

Sweeping her gaze across the three and give the rest of the students in the room a quick glance, Glynda huffed and pushed her glasses back up her nose. "Try not to have these things 'go out of hand' in the future."

She turned to leave. "Oh and Miss Xiao Long?"

Yang's eyes widened in fear again.

"Do work on your stamina. It was an impressive attack, but once is never enough."

And with that, she was gone.

A ravine of sweat came down Pyrrha's brow. She began to stammer. "Would…would either of you two like to accompany me and my team to go get some food? I think it would be nice to get some food."

"Yes," Genos answered. He tried to say something after but nothing came out. Glynda had left her mark on him as well.

Yang just slumped down harder, putting all of her weight down on her two companions.

When the students of Beacon looked back on that day, they would say that there was a match between Genos, Pyrrha, Yang, but the undisputed winner that day was Professor Goodwitch.

…

 _Notice of AGGHHH!: All in all, Genos had a pretty great day besides Glynda being a whole party pooper extraordinaire; nothing like building bonds through violent battles with new friends. Despite that, he definitely had a better day than Saitama who is about to have a crash course in hardcore multitasking soon._

 _Many apologies for not updating sooner, but I was kidnapped by life and forced to do its bidding. It was a merciless master, forcing me to live and suffer through things like needing sleep and being far, far away from anything that could be considered usable for writing. But now I have finally escaped it for a while, and can seek refuge in my delusions once more._


	12. Interlude: Seed of Torment

**Author's Note: Own nothing. Please donate.**

 **Interlude 2: Seed of Torment**

In many ways, the Grimm act like animals, in shape, in sound, in action; they could even cohabitate with other creatures in the wilderness, usually only coming into conflict for purposes of territory or other such reactionary reasons. However, what separates them from being merely animal is their capacity for growth in mind and form, lack of aura, lust towards negativity emotions, and ultimately, their unyielding desire to devour humanity in all its forms.

So the Grimm existed, alongside the kingdoms for as long as any could remember. They maundered; hunted; fed; gained and lost ground spanning mere meters to entire kingdoms. They resided, and existed against their human nemesis, and thriving as they did so.

Humanity didn't so much as thrive as it did struggle; its hatred for its own and those with the most minute of differences dividing even when it needed to stay whole so desperately. So Remnant drifted alone in the cosmos, the stars of its sky untouched by the people, severed from each other by a weakness that draws their most dreaded nightmares to feast on their flesh.

Weakness, though, is an interesting tool to those who seek to exploit it.

The Emerald Forest—a forest teeming with life-had emptiness guided into it. Beowovles, Ursa, Deathstalkers along with all other manner of Grimm trudged through the greenery, leering at the distant lights of Beacon through the gaps in the foliage: green of plants and the brown of the trees did barely hide the black, white, the red eyes of the Grimm horde that barely contained their rapacious hunger.

Most Grimm do not form hordes until sufficient negativity drew them together, with the youngest of them scrambling at the opportunity to feed and the oldest waiting for their lesser brethern to die first.

This horde, however, was an exception: not natural, but artificially induced.

Herded in three masses, with the larger Grimm behind, the fastest in front, and a conglomerate of the two types in between, the Grimm were slowly drawn forth towards Beacon, drawn to life by their hatred of it.

Before the front segment of the horde, a single individual suddenly appeared, seemingly from thin air. A single eyepatch patched over her left eye, the scaly Faunus stood before the Grimm, unblinking, taunting them with a single action: she lighted up a cigar. "Kept you waiting, huh?"

The Grimm starred at her for an instant while younger ones howled and charged. She took two mockingly slow steps, deliberately baiting the Grimm towards end of the Forest, closer towards Beacon and the festival. Coming to a halt as grim shadows elongated, pouring darkness over her form, she got into a stance before gripping one of her predators by the neck and yanking hard. Not expecting the maneuver, the Beowolf found its leap interrupted by a painful snap as its body sought to sail one way while its head went another. It collapsed in a heap as ebon particles drifted off its dissolving form. This just meant that there was more for the rest of the Grimm to eat. With claws and fangs unsheathed, the remaining Grimm let out animalistic howls as they stampeded past the fading form of their fallen at the only food they could find in miles; she took single step behind a tree and no more. As emptiness greeted the flummoxed Grimm, sniffing the air and growling at another evasion, a box with two legs sticking out from underneath it scampered away from sight and into the green again.

They were once again without prey. The Grimm sniffed the air and carried on. They would find her again soon enough. While the sought her out, a camouflaged airship hummed over the newly minted void induced by the operative, now hiding behind a tree.

"It's done," she grumbled, voice like gargling gravel, "pulling them away."

"Excellent work Venom," an operator's voice echoed through her headset, "Gather your team and begin herding them towards the nearest village. Disable their defenses and pull back."

Venom looked down at the grass, brows furrowing. "Disable their defenses? The Grimm will likely tear the villages apart without the defenses. Indiscriminately? There could be Faunus in there as well."

The was a brief pause on the other end. "War has its price and you have your orders. I trust that you will execute them. Our victory is worth more than the loss of a few of our brethren."

Venom frowned and puffed out some smoke from her cigar. "Consider it done."

Wordlessly, Venom pulled something akin to a box over her own form; light refaced away from her form again as the tree behind became visible, if not for the visual distortions that could be glean by sight at a close proximity. Only her legs could be seen as she maundered through the backlines of the Grimm now passing her by like a falling monochrome wave amid the green.

In the forest, Venom wasn't alone: just one of many operators; beyond the forest there were even more. Far beyond these clandestine migrations of the Grimm, soon to become frontlines between blade and teeth, Adam starred at the scintillating blinks of red that represented White Fang operatives on his reconfigured Atlas monitor display in his makeshift base behind rows of operators dispatching his orders. He massaged his throat, giving a subtle wince and brought some tea to ease the hurt. He was lucky that sniper didn't take his head off.

"Perhaps we should send troops as well?" his massive beast of lieutenant suggested. "Take advantage of the chaos and seize their warships for our cause."

"There will be a time for that," Adam said, listening to his orders flow through the words of his men, "but today, we function as a scalpel and let the Grimm do the part of the dying for us against the might of Atlas. Beast against man: monster against monster. Fitting."

Between the dots of red were illimitable rows of black—darkness marred the entire monitor beyond the few blinks of red, and unfortunately, sometimes in the midst of the black, a red would simply disappear: an asset lost.

With another gulp of his tea-the delectable taste mingling with the pain left in his throat-Adam grimaced, feeling a torment both physical and mental.

" _In two days you will begin an assault on the outskirts of Beacon," Cinder's mellifluous voice sliced him through his scroll, leaving deep and unseen marks on his mind._

" _I don't have the manpower—"_

 _He could feel her soft mocking smirk, hammering away at his composure, making him grip his seat tighter just thinking about it. "I haven't finished yet," she continued, "I don't intend for you to use your men. Such an act would be cruelty and waste on both our parts—"_

 _"Spare me the false sympathy. We both know that you don't give a damn if we survive."_

" _Such acrimony," her voice pierced through him again_. " _Whether I care or not about your life doesn't matter. What does is that I possess the power to give you an opening that you could have never gained on your own. Should you choose to ignore it, you can go back to throwing lives at small shipments and patrols like you used to, continuing to do so for a while before I return to visit."_ A promise of malice filled her ending words. " _Or…you could accept my assistance, and make a definite impact."_

"… _What are the details to this 'plan' of yours?"_

 _"I am certain that you are familiar with the Mantle's technique of herding Grimm."_

 _In that moment, a cold chill suffused through him: Grimm herding. Mantle itself stopped Grimm herding during the end of the war, causing more damage than it could manage; they were unable to control the beasts, and like conflagrations untrammeled by Mantle's influence, they spread and consumed hundreds of thousands within days. West of Atlas Unthinkable. "Grimm herding! You—how could you—"_

" _I trust that you know how it's done?" she asked ignoring his distress._

 _He didn't answer her immediately. He couldn't. "Mantle used to…gather subjects and place them in carriers while continuously subjecting them to extreme distress."_

 _"So all you would need to achieve this task would be a few volunteers and a host of victims of your choosing."_

 _"Where would I—"_

 _"That's no concern of mine. I am sure someone of your…talents could find use in the many towns and villages surrounding the kingdoms. It's a land of plenty: use it."_

 _Adam snarled, blood boiling her insolence. "What is the use of your plan—"_

 _"—if Atlas detects and repels them before they come anywhere near the border of the kingdom? That's not an issue for you to trouble yourself over. I will make the arrangements; you will start our fire."_

 _It was like he already agreed to her, like she owned him. "I haven't agreed—"_

 _"Two days or another millennia, Taurus. Choose how much longer your people have to suffer before they are granted the first sign of a new dawn."_

 _He hesitated._

 _"Power doesn't lie," it was like her words had hooks, digging into his flesh, slashing his sinews and taking their place as they pulled him towards her, "and our goals coincide. You don't need to put your faith in me Taurus, but listen to your hate. It knows."_

 _Cinder tugged on him again, urging him, beckoning his will away. She was human: one of them by all accounts-even worse than most of them probably—but since she forcibly intruded on his crusade, the White Fang had grown exponentially stronger. They were not allies, but in this battle against mutual enemies, their hate aligned, and a begrudging need developed on his part; it was almost pitiful, like her promises were doses of victory and he held nothing._

 _But through all his distrust and hate, she never did lead him astray._

 _And so he sold his soul again, granting her more power over him, over the White Fang: Adam Taurus, the leader of the White Fang and pet bull of a human. Bile rose through his throat as he slumped down in his chair, weary. "Two days. Our victory—"_

 _"—Will be the likes of which you cannot concieve."_

The lieutenant growled, drawing Adam back into the present. "It sickens me. Being forced to stoop so low to gain an advantage over our foes. Being forced to use the very methods that Mantle used to slaughter so many of ours during the war. We…I hope this is worth it."

"It will be." Adam said, as he slowly stood up. Nodding to an operator near him, he took a breath as the command center put him on the primary frequency. "Operators."

Out in the forests, Faunus commandos of different color, shape, and creeds stopped in their tracks at the sound of their commander's voice.

"Two days ago, I ordered you all out, under the cover of night, on what most of you must have regarded as a mission of pointless suicide: rushing the borders of Beacon, thrusting yourselves upon the defensive line of Atlas cannons and warships sure to detect your every step. Today, I tell you that this is no suicide mission, no hopeless battle, no pointless atrocity for victory. We have an opening, garnered through great sacrifice," Adam suppressed a growl as he felt Cinder smirking in the back of his head, "granting us a single opportunity to strike at the very flesh of a kingdom."

Hundreds of operatives shot back into motion, still tuned in but with vigor renewed. Dashing through Grimm lines, scattering the fiends so that they would keep their rapacious hunger away from the shuttles that held such palpable despair, the hordes were driven forth, bloodlust unhinged and speeding to a charge.

"Today we plant a seed, fed by the blood of the wound we will plant it, so that all whom consider themselves Faunus may see that the mankind, with its foot on our back for so long, is but mortal. So, operatives, I ask this of you: drive your hordes, endure your torments. Should it come to it, die well, but before you do," Adam glared at the innumerable circles of white on his monitor, signifying villages and towns, "shatter their will."

Adam gripped his seat tightly as the tidal wave of dark swept out towards the outskirts of Beacon. Howls and screams will soon mingle in a clash of shadow and flesh. Perhaps the screams of the humans will match that of the Faunus; the length of their suffering still would be far too short. "Today, we take the first steps towards the continuation of the war—left unfinished despite our dying—and we take the fight to Mantle, Atlas, or whatever other name they wish to hide behind!"

Growls and shouts of jubilation and excitement filled the air, flooding his command tent and flowing out, through his channels, to each and every one of the brave and bold under his command.

"Today, the sons and daughters of Mantle will have a taste of their own blade, feel it between their ribs and as we drive it in, and cut them to the quick. We, the White Fang will cut them open, and let their putrid darkness flow untrammeled." Adam forced a smile across his jaw. "Operatives, set your herds loose."

And like a rain of arrows, storms of darkness were let loose from the red, as the shuttles dived down, the suffering human cargo miserable to the last, before smashing against village and town force fields in a blast of electromagnetic waves. What the burning transports left open, the Grimm quickly filled, as their herders watched from distant tree-tops and hidden crevices.

In a room full of cheering Faunus, Adam slumped back in his chair, stultified by what was hidden behind the vigor of his speech: he has proven himself a mere servant to Cinder, a underling that she deigned to address and command. But hers was the path to power and a future, and he would tear his soul in twain for his people.

Let him be the slave one last time, so that the White Fang—the Faunus may never be again.

The spreading darkness on the monitor grew in pace with Adam's expression.

...

In a once fully staffed command center, a parallel story reached its climax.

Floor stained with heat scorched scars and pale bodies, once vibrant monitors cracked and flickering, the "Wargazer" command ship, meant to watch for all activities on the border of Beacon flew, pristine on the outside while seared hollow within.

Before a single still functioning monitor, the commander of the facility sat, the orifices of his face overflowing with dark liquid as tendrils dug into his eyes, forcing them to stay open. Cinder stood behind him, caressing him with a gloved hand, mocking him with her gentleness, and feeding something eldritch and foul deep into him.

"Cindy," the Captain hoarsely called out to phantoms, "daddy will make it home this time. My promise is real this time."

A uncanny smile spread across Cinder's features; Emerald looked away, unsettled by her better's abnormal temperament-the gloves were affect more than just the Captain. Forcibly, the tendrils from the glove grow further into his eyes, painting the vessels of the organ bloodshot black, as more darkness leaked out from his nostrils. He didn't seem to notice his physical state at all.

" _Daddy_ ," he seemed heard a ghostly apparition say, "daddy."

"Cindy," he reached out and felt her, close but untouched. "Cindy?"

"Why didn't you come home daddy?" the apparition grew more solid, the frame of a small girl began to flicker in an out of his sight. "Why didn't you come back for us."

He began to weep, actual tears mixing with the tainted fluid, drawing trails of wet like mascara coming down his face. "I'm sorry, oh-oh Oum above I'm so sorry. If I would have known, I would-I would have ignored my orders."

"But you didn't." A small petite, hand grew into existence from the flicker, reaching out to touch him. He tried to push his face forward, but the tendrils held him in place, leaving him in agonizing limbo. "Why didn't you come back? Where were you when the monsters took grandma?"

"I'm so sorry..." Part of a small girls face came into being, a pale blue eye starring right through the Captain. "I'm-oh, no...I don't want to see-"

A hand and half a face. That's all he got to see of his daughter as a alpha Ursa's open maw swallowed rest of her, leaving only half a face for him to recognize."Where were you when they took me?"

The Captain began to scream as she dissolved into nothing, his cries unheard by his fallen crew, his taken ship, his broken mind. He screamed and the only few who felt him were those who forced this hell upon him in the first place; he might as well have been screaming into a void. "Bring her back! I need to see her again! I need-"

"I can make her return," Cinder brought her lips next to his ear. "I can make you and her whole again. Together."

She could hear his lips try to form the words "please" but fail, as whimpering and sobs took the place of a coherent sentence. "All you need to do is obey me, and repeat what I tell you to."

His vocalization of his pain stopped. He swallowed and nodded. "Promise me-I want to see her again."

"Then give yourself to me," she whispered, pushing the glove further, "all of you."

The darkness snuffed out the light in his eyes. "Yes. Every last bit. Take it."

Even more tendrils burst through her glove, slicing into his back, growing in further. Darkness flooded him utterly, replacing him on the inside completely. She waggled a finger and he stood up on a clumsy marionette. Cinder caressed his face again as she watched small smile on her face mirror on his, entirely unfitting, but exactly the same.

She lowered her hand and sent a single order into his mind. _Scatter them._

 _..._

 **Things to Come: This is merely set-up for the end of the calm, as terrible things begin to descend (tomorrowish), forcing Saitama to do what he does best again. However, it won't be the same song and dance that he knows, as treachery builds the brutality to come, and no amount of punching-well, that's a lie. He could punch Remnant really hard and that will solve the problem and bring peace to the world. Dead people count as peaceful right? Well, stay tuned, for tomorrow comes the last bit of dry weather before the storm falls.**


	13. The Calm Part 4

**Author's Note: Own? Oum own, me borrow…**

 **The Calm…**

 **Part 4: Stormfall**

Dampened gunfire and screams barely reached the yawning Roman Torchwick through the thickness of his cell. He looked at his nails disappointedly as the screaming outside intensified, before suddenly stopping entirely. His nails had grown much too long for his liking, much too long indeed. The left side of his cell wall suddenly bent in with a loud impact, leaving a dented outline resembling a guard's head.

Roman sighed. "And I was just starting to enjoy the quiet."

Slowly, the door between him and freedom began to glow, from a dark, dull red to an almost blinding white. Steel quivered and curve as it began to sweat slag and melt. Roman starred, quite bored at the dramatic display of might. Looking up from the liquid mess, Roman felt a small familiar chill enter his body as he looked into those unmistakable blazing eyes of her's. Cinder stood before him, a small bandana covering her jaw and fake rabbit ears flopping about atop her head.

"So…and don't think I'm complaining about my early parole here, but…when were you planning to inform me about the sudden change in our plan—"

Her eyes ended his sentence without her saying a word. Roman sighed as he broke away from those burning pearls that hid amidst the smoke the ruin halls.

"Not even a hi?" Roman asked.

"Were you going to say hi to us anyway?" Emerald scoffed under her mask, fake dog ears wiggling. She didn't look anything like a Faunus, but all the public would need later would be the suspicion

Roman gave her a smug look. "Only to the one who matters."

"And here I was worried that prison might've dulled your wit even further," Mercury said, trying to reconnect one of his pig ears.

A finger saluted Mercury as an accompaniment to Roman's smirk. It wasn't the thumbs up.

Then the appearance of colorful Neapolitan head brought the first real grin to Torchwick's face; the smile on Neo's face told him that the feeling was mutual. A sudden widening of her eyes and a pursing her lips told him that she just remembered something; from behind her, she reached and pulled out a familiar looking hat, her mouth open and eyes glowing, as if she was screaming _ta da!_

Chuckling to himself before reaching up to take the hat from her and placing on its rightful place, Tochwick stood up dusting himself off. "Well, you took your sweet time."

Neo frowned, tapping her foot on the melted metal puddle, giving him a dirty look.

Torchwick smirk ceased, his face suddenly taking on an expression of faux-seriousness. "Did you recolor your hair a slightly different hue again? Is that what this is."

Neo stop her tapping and began to glare.

"Did you miss me?" Torchwick opened his arms playfully, as Neo rolled her eyes, jabbing him in the ribs which caused his smile to return. Her gait grew larger—still quite diminutive due to her size—as she gave a silent humph, flipping her head back and ushering Torchwick to follow. He shook his head as his partner in crime sauntered down the ship's corridor; a shower of sparks and dangling messes of torn metal coming down on the littered bodies of his guards. This sight continued down each and every hall up till the elevator—Cinder was quite thorough.

"Out of curiosity," Roman said, stepping over a particularly crumpled Atlesian Paladin, "how did you all find out which ship they rotated me to. They do that pretty much every other day."

Emerald huffed. "Cinder was quite persuasive."

Something told him that he really didn't want to know more.

To Roman's upmost surprise, the bridge seemed comparatively unmarred to the disfigured halls and bodies that lead up to the room. A few bodies and couple of scorches, but overall, everything still seemed to be in a workable condition. His surprise grew exponentially more as he noticed the captain still in his seat, giving orders and manning the ship. "So, did you guys just miss him or is he also with us—oh." Roman gave the empty black fluid flowing out the Captain's orifices a disgusted look. "That's just delightful." Roman fixed Mercury and Emerald with a mock accusatory glare. "Did one of you have a conversation with him? Is that how he lost his soul."

Mercury remained impassive. "And here we were thinking that he was this way because he had to carry you around on his ship all the time."

The sound of liquid flowing drew Roman's attention back the Captain. Like a spasming marionette, the Captain jerked to the motions of Cinder's gloved fingers. Finally noticing her glove, Roman fought the urge to swallow as lines of dark fluid filled the husk from each of Cinder's fingertips, dripping against the will of gravity through the air, an unnatural link being formed. "…Fits you. The colors on that glove."

Cinder didn't acknowledge him, focusing on the Captain and forcing the last few commands out of his lips over Atlas communication lines—connected to all ships, except the one that really mattered, which remained left in the dark.

A dismemberment operation like this has never been fully accomplished against Atlas; their communicative abilities and tactical acumen ruled the battlefield even in the days when they were Mantle for a reason—their efficient mercilessness in combat, and their unspoken atrocities that are unspoken but unforgotten.

However, the puppeteering of a Captain had never occurred before either. A man completely taken over by another's will through the loss of their own—not merely an illusion, but a complete enslavement of the mind.

Through his words, by her will, Atlas ships were scattered across the outskirts of the city now. Patrols meeting Grimm far too great in number for a few meager ships to handle at a time. Soon, they would call in to the Flagship—Ironwood's domain—and the scheme would be torn open, exactly how she would plan.

Despair is a fascinating medicine for chaos and death. The main battleships wouldn't forsake the defense of the festival even for a few of their own ships, so the patrols would be lost. Fourteen ships in total: fourteen ships and all its crew, fed into the maw of the smaller herd that the White Fang formed.

The larger, soon to arrive, will serve as a test of sorts. In the best case, Ironwood's ship will go down, the worst…she would at least know how truly capable the strangers are in a combative situation beyond their level of power.

"Roman," Cinder said, drawing her hand back from the Captain, who also turned to Roman, giving him a smile that simply did not belong. Roman inched back away from the possessed husk of a man.

Patting the captain on the cheek as one would a pet, Cinder backed away from him. "Eradicate as much as you can on your way to Vale. Crash into the residential district. Then, you'll get to be with her."

Torchwick's mouth opened and closed repeatedly, and his eyes slightly widened. He looked at Neo. "So we're terrorists now."

"What's this we stuff?" Emerald deadpanned. "You and the White Fang are the sole perpetrators of this deplorable action. 'We' had nothing to do with this."

Roman frowned. Normally, he didn't mind an audience for his schemes and crimes but recently, he felt less like a crime boss and more as a moving target, something of a diversion.

Neo flashed him a grin, clasping her hands together before pulling them apart while wiggling her fingers: boom. She added a wink for extra emphasis.

"You ever get the feeling that you're just a pawn on chessboard with far too many of them?"

Neo thought to herself for a moment and shrugged. _I just help her kill people and blow stuff up Roman. The rest of that stuff is superfluous, dearie._

Shaking his head, Roman reluctantly followed, giving the hollow captain of a hollowed vessel one last look. Something vaguely resembling pity gnawed at the edge of the innermost layers of Roman. He was no lover of Atlas pigs, but looking at that man, having imaginary conversations with a ghosts, in a bridge as empty as he is, just isn't a way for anyone to go. Forcing the disturbing thoughts out of his mind, Roman left the bridge as well, following the rest into the elevator.

As a single Atlas shuttle detached, the destroyer-class warship continued onwards towards Vale…

…

Saitama's baldness shone bright, so bright that his refulgent dome's reflected the sun's own light and confused the star as to why the light coming back at it seemed to be brighter. Unfortunately, this resplendent light also had three very detrimental effects.

The first is the unintentional blinding of a flock of seagulls heading towards Vacuo. Spears of light reflected had no mercy for their eyes—their irises sizzled the moment they took a single look down and the agony caused them to break formation, smashing together in a conflated mess of squawking feathers—the ground gave them no quarter.

There would be one less flock in the great migration this year.

The second issue was more of an annoyance for all of whom operated aboard Ironwood's flagship; pilots tend to need eyes to accomplish their function properly. Thankfully, due to either aura or some odd unexplained physical phenomenon (probably the aura), Ironwood and those beside him were spared from everlasting blindness—merely suffering an agonizing blinding sensation.

This was put into words by the pilot thusly: "Ow. Permission to shut port window A-2—I'm just going to do it."

Ironwood was too busy trying to shield his eyes to care.

As the sun's touch was severed from Saitama's upper crust, the beacon that was brighter than Beacon grew dim and the bridge returned to a mostly functioning state. Groans and sighs of relief echoed throughout as hands rubbed eyes and curses left lips.

"…and then I punched Bor—Boron? Boros, I think, again. He was the only one to take that many punches from," Saitama frowned the sight of most the bridge groaning and cursing while they rubbed their eyes, "are any of you listening?"

"Sorry. We were just—" Ironwood found himself distracted by Qrow next to him, standing unaffected by the light. "Qrow…where did you get that."

His roguish smirk made Ironwood's insides burn with irrational agitation. "What," Qrow said pointing the aviator sunglasses that shielded his eyes from the blinding; on the one side of the frame the words 'world's greatest uncle' was inscribed, while on the other, 'dad no.2' was scribbled messily along the edge, "these? I carry these around just in case? No standard issue sunglasses from Atlas huh? Well, that's a shame. Anyway, baldy you talking about fighting this alien thing."

"Yes," Saitama said, placated by the fact that someone actually cared enough to listen, "so after the battle, the entire city was completely destroyed."

"The people?" Ironwood asked, still trying to blink bright spots out of his eyes.

Saitama sighed. "Well the heroes saved as much they could but, the attack was pretty encompassing, and since they did start by bombing the city…"

Ironwood's eye drifted over the map of Beacon displayed on a nearby monitor. He looked at Saitama. He swallowed. "Giants, meteors, aliens…how did you people survive for so long."

"Heroes," Saitama said proudly. He was met with an entirely blank stare.

"Are they anything like you?"

Saitama thought for a second. "Kind of?"

"How did you people survive for so long?"

A vein popped out on Saitama's forehead. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What the general means to say," the pilot chimed without missing a beat, back still facing the group "is that if collateral damage was a person, he would very bald."

Ironwood's jaw dropped at how bluntly his pilot decided phrase the meaning of his words to Saitama; she might as well hit him in the face while she was at it. An awkward silence transpired.

"She's a nice one," Qrow chuckled, "where'd you find her."

The pilot shook her head. "At the top of the toughest piloting class on Remnant."

Qrow's smirk grew. "Feisty too."

"Stop harassing my pilot Qrow," Ironwood sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. "So…what happened next."

Saitama took a moment to ponder on that. "Well, the invaders were defeated, but they destroyed the city. Thankfully, Metal Knight rebuilt the city in a few days—"

"A few days?" Ironwood asked, uncertain if he heard right.

"Yeah," Saitama said. "What."

"How—nevermind, keep going."

"Well, that was about a month ago, and now I'm here."

"I—" Ironwood paused, trying to gather his thoughts. A million questions and yet none occupied his mind at the same time. There was so much he could possible glean from Saitama—this anomaly in reality, stranger man in a comparatively moderately strange land. Yet, the more he spoke, the less sense he made. Broken cities and millions lost in a day and yet returned to normal the next. "I—how did you all know about the invasion in the first place."

Saitama thought to himself. "Great Prophet Shibabawa saw them coming in a terrible prophecy."

"You had an actual prophet?" Ironwood asked, eyebrows raised.

"Well, we used to," Saitama said.

"How'd she die?" Qrow asked.

Saitama furrowed his brows, trying to recall what exactly brought an end to the woman who could foresee all that came her way. "Cough drops."

"What?" Qrow and Ironwood exclaimed simultaneously.

"Do you guys not have cough drops here?"

"No…how did cough drops kill her?" Ironwood continued.

"Oh," Saitama said, "I think she choked."

It seemed that some unseen force dislocated the link between Ironwood's chin and the rest of his face; his jaw flopped slightly at the sheer stupidity, the sheer idiocy of the prophet's death, unfitting of such a powerful character. Beside him, Qrow began to shake as stifled cackles burst through the cracks spreading across his composure by the absurdity of the situation. Saitama looked at both unamused. "It was really sad. The heroes and the association even held a giant funeral for her. Crime was a big problem in the following days. And the company that used to sell the cough drops went bankrupt."

A red deep as Ruby's cloak rose through Qrow's face like hot air, his face tense from holding back overflowing laughter. Running a gloved hand down his face, Ironwood imagined himself peeling the insanity off his face and returning the world to how it was, before bald moon-breakers and choking prophets. "...let's stop talking about your world for a while."

"And let boredom return to its rightful reign in our lives," the pilot muttered under her breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing sir. My throat just itches." She faked a few hacks and very deliberately pulled out a packet of cough drops. Before Ironwood's eyes—growing wider and incredulous with each passing second—the pilot dropped a piece of the alleviating sweet down her throat as a ghost of a smirk bent her lips upwards. "Is there a problem sir."

The general studied his pilot with a blank stare as snickers burst loose from all corners of the room, as if standing as an accompanied soundtrack to the performance that the pilot had just join in. "Just…" Ironwood sighed and shook his head, as Qrow's heckling sniggers churned the newly formed disappointment Ironwood had for his staff. "…don't choke."

"Don't worry Jimmy," Qrow said while fixing the pilot with a glance that held promises far too lewd, "I'll just give her a couple of abdominal thrusts and everything will be alright."

The pilot narrowed her eyes at Qrow. "This ship will crash before any kind of thrusting happens."

Qrow waggled his eyebrows at her, causing her to recoil and cringe. "I'm pretty fast."

"So are four engines pointed straight down at the ground."

Qrow winked at her, causing her to look away in revulsion. "Suppose now that the good stuffs out of the way, we need to deal with the syllabus."

Begrudgingly, Ironwood brought his scroll up. "So, what did you two do with the students for the first class."

Saitama thought for a second. "Tag."

"Tag," Ironwood said, face turning incredulous. "Are you trying to stunt the growth of our students?"

Qrow smirked. "They did tag with him."

Ironwood's incredulity turned to belated horror. "Are you trying to end the lives of our students!"

"I'm not that bad," Saitama complained.

Eyes wide with exasperation, Ironwood's jaw opened and closed like a malfunctioning door. Taking a breath, he held up a hand and stomped over to the other side of the bridge. "Expand windshield B-2."

Metal gave way to sky as plating receded under Ironwood's word. The general stood there, his face stiff, with a single finger pointed towards the sky. "Moon," Ironwood said, pointing at the sundered remnants of the already shattered moon. "You used our moon as a urinal, and it broke, so forgive me if I find you running after students a horrifying prospect."

"Well…moon was an accident," Saitama said. "I was fighting Mars Beasts for a long time, I didn't have time to go to the toilet and the pressure built up so…"

"That's not how pressure works," the pilot muttered.

"An accident is when you have an…incident in your pants." Ironwood thrust his finger vindictively towards the moon. "That…is your loins possessing more destructive power than any weapon on Remnant!"

"So," Qrow asked while chuckling, "does that make his groin a weapon of mass destruction?"

A lull appeared in Ironwood's agitation. "I—by the Treaty of Mantle I guess it does."

The chuckling intensified.

"Regardless," Ironwood pierced through the once again derailing conversatoin with firm tone, "let's get back on track to dealing with the syllabus. We are going to need a core curriculum for the students, something that we—and by that, I probably mean I-can teach them."

A snort answered. "So what Jimmy," Qrow said, "think ol' Qrow doesn't have a thing or ten to show the kids."

"Hardly. I just don't think you care."

Qrow paused and nodded. "Well, you're not wrong."

Ironwood frowned deeply at Qrow. "What was Ozpin thinking when he put you in charge of students?"

"Don't know," Qrow said. His expression darkened. "Planning to question and then usurp him on that too?"

"I did not usurp him." Their eyes met, words stopped but communication didn't. The message between them was clear to all who were present; such was the palpable presence of their animosity.

"Hey, stop that." Saitama said, interrupting the flow of antagonism between the two. Both their heads snapped towards them, their mutual hateful spell broken by Saitama's dull frown and ghost of a frown. "You two stare at each other all the time like that. Only time I ever see people stare at each other like that is on soap operas and it's usually between a man and a woman who actually really like each other."

Revulsion spread through both Ironwood and Qrow at the thought of liking each other. A sudden cold entered the space between Qrow and Ironwood, induced by the few shuffles they made to get away from each other.

"Why do you keep glaring at each other anyway. It's not like it solves anything. Maybe you should talk about your problems."

"Talk?" Qrow shook his head. "Talking never solves anything either."

"Not the way you talk," Saitama said, "you just talk at people and say mean things to hurt their self-esteem so that you feel better. And when you can't think of anything you drink…and you are drunk a lot."

As if to illustrate Saitama's point, Qrow pulled out his flask. "Helps me forget boring conversations."

Saitama sighed and turned his head to Ironwood. "And you keep sighing and putting more weight on yourself. Aren't you tired."

Ironwood blinked at Saitama. "Excuse me."

"Aren't you tired. You're always saying something like how you have to do all the work. You're always trying justify things. You talk about the syllabus the students like there is some kind of specific way to do things. You constantly try to be a general even when you don't have to be."

"I…" Ironwood found himself stumped. "Well…someone has to. Things need to run efficiently."

"But—they aren't, running efficiently. You always get into fights with Qrow over childish things. the Headmaster—Oz….uhhh…"

"Ozpin," Ironwood assisted.

"Ozpin, doesn't seem notify either you about any of his plans. You two say that my world doesn't make any sense-the way you act makes little sense either. Why do you two hate each other so much anyway? I don't get it?"

Surprise washed over both Qrow and Ironwood, eyes widening for both. As Qrow starred on at Saitama confused to why he would be supporting Ironwood, the general instead veered into disappointed bemusement. "It took a literal dimensional alien to notice my predicament."

"Well," Qrow said. "It's not like he tells us anything either."

"He let us on his ship," Saitama said, flabbergasted by Qrow's train of logic. "All this time, Ozpin is pretty much telling him to do things and go places. You just fight with him. No one really lets him know anything valuable."

Qrow forced his eyes to remained locked on Saitama, away from Ironwood's increasingly satisfied face. "Why are you siding with him?"

"Is everything a fight with you?"

"It is with him," Qrow said, point his finger at Irownood without looking. Saitama shook his head once again; two professional warriors began to devolve into high school delinquents from rival schools.

"Let's just finish this academic plan for the students," Ironwood sighed. "We're going in circles."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Both of yours." Saitama said.

"How am I responsible here?" Ironwood asked, almost fuming.

"You keep responding to him," Saitama answered plainly.

The pilot nodded. "You do kinda do that a lot sir. Probably should stop."

More mutters of agreement emerged between the ship's crew. Ironwood sighed.

"You should listen to your underlings, Jimmy," Qrow prodded further, "they might actually be able to provide something useful for you."

Ironwood frowned and turned his attention to Qrow. They eyes met again, unblinking, unyielding, smoldering with unsaid curses and withheld thoughts. Between them, Saitama looked on with his eyebrows raised; he wondered if this was what it was like for children in divorced families every day. If their mother was a military commander on the precipice of lathering furious foam over the father, flask lodged in throat and smelling like a desiccated bird's nest. Or would it be the other way around: would Ironwood like to be considered the mother instead?

The tension snapped.

"Sir!" the pilot cried, voice accompanied by a piercing beep drew the entire bridge to a startled attention. All eyes fell on the monitor, black dots suddenly appearing all across the screen with a single red dot moving in a very erratic way.

Ironwood studied the monitor for a brief second before coming to a certain decision. "All hands to your stations. Something has gotten past our patrols."

…

Do recall that there were three great detriments due to Saitama's baldness a few minutes ago.

From the sky, the third detriment emerged in a messy chaotic fashion, a large repurposed transport shuttle spinning out of control, a sea of Grimm following, clouds split and dissipating from the weight of the swarm coming down upon it.

"AGGHHHHHH!" screamed the pilot of the lead transport.

"Dammit Caven, stay on target!" cried his co-pilot, completely bewildered by why the lead transport was flying so erratically. The tortured, terrified humans captives in the cargo bay were already giving off enough negative energy to attract a super-swarm of Grimm. "What's wrong with—"

A sudden brightness originating from the Atlas flagship suddenly impaled his eyes as well. "AGGHHHH!"

"AGGHHHHHHHH!" Caven screamed.

"AGGHHHHH!" the co-pilot howled.

"AGGHHHHHMMMMPHHH!" the human victims in the cargo cried.

Far, far below, Saitama continued being bald, completely unaware.

…

Sometimes, a detriment can warp in a paradoxical motion, becoming a blessing instead. Take erratic piloting induced by agonizing blindness induced by baldness for example.

"AGGHHHH!" roared Caven, completely blind to the gloriously mad, utterly illogical maneuvers that his ship was making, confusing Atlas targeting systems.

The pilot snorted. "Looks like we have an ace pilot on our hand—"

Her theory was quickly proven wrong by the transport shuttle diving straight down past the flagship, disappearing before a loud impact was heard. "Okay, not an ace pilot. Just a really inaccurate suicide bomber."

Qrow watched the smoke rise in the distance. "Two questions: how did that thing get through your perimeter, and what was t that?"

Ironwood didn't bother responding to him, instead rushing towards his head communications officer. "Get me through to the fleet."

The officer saluted and then inputted several commands into his console. Confusion and agitation spread across his features as he found himself denied his duty. "I…I can't sir."

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I mean…sir, the signal looks like they are all there but…" the communications officer swallowed, "it's like we've been blocked."

"What? How?" But soon disbelief faded from Ironwood's face, a horrifying possibility entering his mind. "That can't be possi—keep trying to get through to the fleet."

Striding back, Ironwood pulled out his scroll, attempting to reach the other captains through his personal channels. Muttering muted curses to himself as he found as much success as his communication officer did.

"What's going on?" Qrow asked, following the pacing Ironwood. "Ironwood?"

"Hey, uh, guys?" Saitama interrupted.

They both turned to him. He pointed out as something else splattered against the far edge of the hull: a droplet of pure monochrome. As Saitama continued to stare out, confused by what just happened, the rest of the bridge tensed up, knowing what is to come.

Then the next drop hit, smearing the ship right next to the burning transport. Like raindrops, they fell, bit by bit coloring the ship slowly as more and more of the stray Grimm descended to their demise by unrestrained velocity.

Saitama's eyes drifted up as he saw the contours of something encompassing begin to blot out the sun, and shadow the clouds; rivers of shadow extending and spreading across the skies. These dark rivers grew as more droplets of black bleed through the clouds.

"Swarm incoming," the pilot announced, breaking through the silence in the ship. Several waves of dark tore through the clouds right after. Even within the ships, all the personnel could hear the howls

Waterfalls of ebony descended; light was purged from day; shadows washed over Ironwood's warship.

"All hands," Ironwood said, unshaken, "weapons free."

There was a hesitation as the sheer magnitude of the swarm came into sight before the entire bridge burst into action. Belts were fastened as operators took their stations and began to perform their duties. Voice mingled in a mingled mess as orders flowed through the bridge like blood through veins, alerting crewmen, waking the guns, and flooding the ship with a purposeful urgency.

Ironwood pulled up his scroll and tuned it to the ship's broadcast. "All hands to your stations. Prepare for battle. This is not a drill."

Saitama studied the thunderstorm of Grimm about to descend, quite blasé about the entire situation. "That's a lot of Grimm."

"They don't get this big unless they've been herded towards us," Qrow said, scowling.

"Herded?"

"I'll tell you about it later. Or you can ask Ironwood, now. Mantle came up with the method after all." If the general heard Qrow say anything, he didn't show it.

Rushing over as hums of power flooded the ship's interior, the top of its hull unsheathing all of its cannons, batteries, plasma-casters, and launchers, the flagship sailed and assailed the pursuing Grimm with a torrent of concentrated fire.

…

Agony became Yang, and she made that known to most those around her through series of suffering groans; Blake got a more straightforward treatment.

"Yang…" Blake said with a blank face, "…Yang…"

"Shhh," Yang replied, rubbing her cheeks against the small twitching ears atop Blake's head. "Just…shhh. Making me feel better is an important part of being a partner. This is partner training. Shhh."

Blake shook her head and resumed her reading as best she could as Yang fiddled away with her ears. "Regretting the attack aren't you?"

"Maybe this was all part of my plan," Yang smirked, "to let me rub some kitty-ears."

Fighting the flush on her cheeks, Blake put down her book. "Yang, that would indicate a moderate level of forward planning that you are incapable of."

Yang grumbled and buried her face into Blake's neck. "Mean kitty." Blake's breath hitched and drew her book up while attempting to shrink her neck away from Yang's underhanded attacks.

Teams RWBY and JNPR were sprawled across a table in the cafeteria, a mixture of satisfied, ebullient, and thoroughly spent.

"This," Genos said, "has been a most productive day. I have learned much of your world, and gained more knowledge regarding how your people operate."

Yang chuckled as she lifted her head from Blake's neck. "You, my shiny chrome friend, are only one I have ever met who got happier after being hit by me."

"It was a most productive exercise," Genos frowned, "though I am sorry about cutting your hair—"

"Stop that," Yang pointed a listless finger at Genos as she collapsed on Blake's neck again; the cat Faunus sighing and closing her book in annoyance, "that was my fault and…you know. I guess I'm sorry about _blowing up_ on you like that!"

Yang waggled her eyebrows at Genos who looked at her confused. Everyone else just groaned "Is that supposed to be wordplay?"

"Even a cyborg can't stand your stupid jokes," Weiss said. "And if I must remind everyone, Professor Goodwitch came in and nearly flayed everyone alive because of what you did to the ring."

"Relax," Yang said, reaching over to pinch Weiss on the cheek—an act that resulted in her hand getting slapped away, "Goodwitch does the death-starring to everyone. Though she is right about a few things." Yang grinned at Genos. "For one, you do fight with the grace of a boneless man with two left feet, even though you are a shiny invincible robot."

"Yang!" Ruby frowned at her sister, "that's really mean."

"But true."

"Still mean!"

Narrowing her eyes at her younger sister, Yang smiled sweetly. "Are you saying that because you actually care about me being mean to him, or is it because you. Like—" A burst of rose petals and a "Humph!" later, and Genos found a perturbed Ruby with both hands planted on Yang's mouth, still grinning wide. Puffing her red cheeks and trying to glare daggers at her sister, Ruby drew in close to whisper. "Yang! What was that!"

Yang looked down at Ruby's small fingers on her lips, and then back at Ruby, eyes taunting as Ruby slowly lifted her fingers.

"So," Yang whispered, "do you?"

Ruby grew bright like a tomato. "What. No! Ew! Boys are—bleghh!"

"But he isn't a just boy," Yang pushed off Blake—glowering silently at Yang as the blonde pushed down on one of her cat-ears. "he's part machine. A lonely, noble, and most importantly, shiny machine with all the virtues of a knight, all the power of a weapon, and none of a normal boy's vices. Bet you just want to rub oil all over your hands like you down when you're cleaning Crescent Rose and—" Ruby couldn't take anymore. With a squeal of indignation, she launched herself upon Yang, tackling her to the floor amid the blonde's diabolical laughter, trying to force her sister's mouth closed.

Genos watched wordlessly, confused and lost regarding all that had just transpired. "Are—are they fighting?"

"No," Weiss said, looking down at the wrestling sisters in more ways than one, "it's just how dunces express affection for each other."

"Hate you hateyouhateyou…" squealed Ruby with her head pushing against Yang's, their limbs entangled, bodies fumbling.

Genos didn't get it.

Watching the two sisters roll across the cafeteria floor, uncaring of all the stares they were getting, Genos thought back to what Yang said to him. "Fight with the grace of a boneless man with two left feet?"

Tepid laugher came from Pyrrha. "She exaggerates. You aren't nearly that bad, just…a bit unrefined is all."

Genos made and unmade a fist, feeling energy from his core flow in and out of it. "Unrefined?"

Pyrrha's paused and wondered how she could explain it to Genos. "Yes—I—you are very powerful, Genos, likely more powerful than any hunter in Remnant, I am almost certain of this fact. I have felt the force of your strikes, felt my bones tremble under my shield even as you held back so much of yourself, and restricted your power to merely a sliver. You still had far more within you than both me and Yang put together."

Genos's palm halted Pyrrha's words, as he pulled out his notebook. "Please continue."

"You have a lot of power, but you are…" Pyrrha's face scrunched together in search of the right word.

"Messy?" Jaune offered.

"No."

"Angry," Nora suggested, trying to imagine Genos as an angry robot, eyes red with lasers coming out; she quickly drifted off into her own mindscape, making sound effects to herself with her mouth.

"No."

"Unfocused," Ren said.

Pyrrha's face eased. "Unfocused. Thank you Ren. I don't mean this in the sense that you confused about your own actions, rather…you seem distracted."

"Distracted." Genos said mostly to himself, eyes growing distant as past failures came back to haunt him. Time and time again, since when he first met his master till now, every single one of his defeats functioned as a lesson of awareness—every time his guard fell, so did he. "Unguarded."

"Well, you didn't let down your guard in our spar today, it was obvious when you were thinking, lost in your own mind and focused on one of us and only one of us. 'Tunnel vision' might be a fitting term to how you approach battle. When you decide to focus on a certain thing, it becomes your sole purpose."

"I was offered combat training once," Genos said, "from a master of unarmed combat. I refused him then, saying that I didn't want any form of self-defense, just destructive power, and I seek no training beyond what I can get from my master."

Pyrrha smiled at Genos. "That's entirely fine. I don't think you could be trained traditionally anyway considering your uh..." Pyrrha looked uneasily at Genos's blank face, afraid to offend him somehow. "Condition?"

"You are correct." Genos said. "Repetitive training is wasted on me: I will never grow any stronger or better through training. I require upgrades. Yet…"

"Yet?" Weiss asked, trying to get Genos to go on.

"Yet…I can't ever imagine myself becoming anywhere near as powerful as master." Genos looked lost, uncertain. It was a perplexing misery for Weiss to comprehend.

"You're worried that you won't become as powerful as your master." Weiss deadpanned. "I, for one, don't understand why you're comparing yourself to him anyway."

"Master is the paragon of what it means to be a hero. He continues on in the face of hopelessness, he defeats any foe, and he finds all challenges beneath his power. If I could become as strong as him…it seems like a fantasy."

"Probably because it's true," Weiss said. "Look, I understand what it's like to look up to someone but…I was with him a night ago, and what he did—it was an impossibility! He is impossible. No one person could match him directly unless they somehow could duplicate themselves or…well, you just can't."

"Duplicate…" Genos eyes suddenly lit up. "You're right."

Weiss blinked uncomfortably as she felt the unnaturally warm metal hand of Genos pat her on the shoulder. "Uh…sure."

"If I am not able to match master in power directly, that I will do so quantitativel-"

The lights flickered on and off as the building shook, across the cafeteria students stood up, uncertain as to what was going on. Dampened cries drifted in from the outside as a stampede of footsteps came closer. The door to the cafeteria burst open as a flood of students and staff rushed in, some bleeding, other shocked. From behind them, Glynda backed into the room with a telekinetic shield raised against the outside.

Pushing past the onrush of people, Genos and the two teams made their way over to Glynda. "What's going on?"

Lowering her shield and bulwarking the door with a telekinetic layer, Glynda scowled and leaned in towards Genos. "It appears that an Atlas ship has been hijacked."

"Hijacked?" Weiss said. "Atlas ship? That's—"

"Not as impossible as you think, Ms. Schnee." Glynda swept her eyes through the garrison of students seeking sanctuary in the cafeteria; the few who had their wits about them called in their lockers as to arm themselves.

"So…retake the ship?" Ruby asked, exhilarated by the thought of storming an Atlas ship. Maybe she could surf her locker up to it.

"You," Glynda said sternly, "and the rest of the students will stay here until the coast is clear."

"But—"

"Outside is an Atlas warship, Ms. Rose. From what I could deduce, it is of the destroyer class. Do you know what that means?"

"Uh…it has many guns?"

It was absolutely perturbing seeing her own reflection in Glynda's glasses. "It means, Ms. Rose, that even if you can somehow evade the constant rate of fire from all sixteen guns on the ship, you will not be able to keep up with the ship itself, unless it is absolutely still."

Ruby's excitement was snuffed out as her dreams of being sky-pirate were dashed. At the very last moment however, a flicker of light came back into her eyes as she slowly looked towards Genos, seemingly glaring through Cardin and his team at something behind them, the light in his eyes rotating and shifting constantly.

"Professor," Genos said, data racing in his glowing eyes, "how far is the city from the academy? Which direction?"

"Approximately five kilometers to the north."

Genos scowled. "The warship is heading towards the residential district."

Glynda's eyes widened. "Then—"

"I must go now."

Understanding his intentions Glynda telekinetically forced the walls on the other side of the room open with a crack of her riding crop, startling the students that were sitting beside it. "Genos," Glynda said, watching his thrusters light up. He turned his head slightly.

She hesitated. "Shoot the ship down if you have to. Don't let any civilians get hurt."

He gave her a sharp nod, and left fire in his wake, seats and desks shattering apart on his approach. Through the opened wall he went, gaining speed at a truly ludicrous rate; behind him, the wall was forced shut again. He continued on.

Ripping through shrubbery, soaring over buildings, air screaming in his ears, he saw the warship in the horizon. The _Interpreter:_ that was the title inscribed in paint on the left of the ship, noticed by Genos as he began his scan. Fourteen guns, moderate plating, eight engines, and…a single operator? The rest of the ship seemed almost completely empty.

Genos shook the question off until later; the air bent around him as he went supersonic.

Trailing after the ship like a guided missile, Genos leapt upwards, taking off after warship, not three hundred meters away from the outskirts of the city. Something exploded far behind him: artillery shot, still far too slow to keep pace with him. More shots came his way sporadically, unfocused and without aim.

Taking advantage of the force of one of the explosions, Genos used the blast to lift himself into the air, ascending into the air, after the ship. Slowing down to a more manageable level, Genos pulled his fist back into a haymaker and brought it down on the back of the ship, cracking the rear hull of the ship apart.

Tearing through wiring and the inner padding to enter the ship, Genos pulled back as bodies of soldiers and robots were sucked out by the sudden shift of pressure. Going down into the ship, hallway broken but now empty, Genos scanned through the ship, brows furrowing deeply as he found nothing but bodies. Lifting his head towards the bridge, he once again noticed the single presence of life, stilling alone.

Thrusters coming to life again, Genos blazed metal walls, machinery, munitions, into the elevator to the bridge and right up through it. As pieces of debris and scrap washed off his chrome skin, Genos hovered before the bridges doors, incinerators raised. The door melted into an opening: Genos made his entrance.

All around him, scorch marks marred the one pristine command center and bodies lay draped over consoles. Deadhead of him, Genos saw the back of the only person remain as the man pressed his palm down against the holographic controls repeatedly. The ship had definitely been boarded, but what kind of boarding party consists of one person?

Approaching the man, prepared to disable or more, Genos slowly wandered to the sir. Outside, the city was getting ever closer in distance as buildings came into view.

Black liquids cascaded out the man's face, dripping drop by drop but never quite reaching the metal ground beneath his feet, instead fading away long before it got beyond his neck. Genos narrowed his eyes at the man, the captain of the ship as he continued on as if Genos wasn't there, muttering the words "Cindy" to himself over and over again. Gingerly trying to scoop some of the mysterious black substance off the man's face, Genos found it fading from his touch and fleeing back into the man's eyes.

"Can you hear me?" Genos inquired, looking the captain where his eyes would be, now replaced by pitch black pools of obsidian.

The captain smiled, and shot the console with his gun, causing it to flicker and sputter, and then lifted the gun under his own neck. Reaching out, Genos seized the gun, causing the bullet to harmlessly go off in his palm before applying a low-level shock to the captain collapsing him, and sending his scroll clattering across the ground.

Looking down, Genos scanned into the captain's scroll, sifting through data to glean anything of value from it. Coordinates of villages and jammed distress calls from patrol ships raced through Genos's head, suddenly realizing the magnitude of the attack. Without anther word, and time running out, Genos stomped on the scroll, crushing it and freeing Atlas signal traffic again.

He had wasted too much time: three minutes to impact.

Firing a blast through the windshield, Genos leapt through the front glass of the ship and slid down the hull with the incapacitated captain in tow, tearing parts of hull out off the ship in strips. Speeding past the edge of the ship in moments, Genos descended at a moderate pace in order to keep the captain from getting whiplash and landed.

Wasting no time as the ship grew ever closer to the city, Genos placed the captain on the ground, eyes still fluttering, and bent the strips of hull over him, effectively binding him the ground itself. It would have to do for now.

Racing after the ship again, going down on an incline in a collision course that would ruin the city, through Vale's perimeter defenses—caught surprised and unaware of the situation—Genos rose and landed on a building at the edge of the residential districts, the _Interpreter_ still incoming.

Sending his thrusters into overdrive, Genos met a ship several hundred times his size and weight. His sheer thrust and strength slowed, but didn't stop the momentum. The ship kept going. Driven back by the weight Genos sent more power into all his thrusters, trying to push it aside rather backwards directly. Clenching his teeth as he felt his core surge more power into his limbs, Genos heard the screams of the pedestrians across the district; it was getting too close.

He decided to approach the situation using brute power of a different variety; planting his legs against the ship and launching himself back, he flipped and tore through asphalt, using the friction to grind himself to a quick halt. Even with his speed, it would be close, as the nebulous shadow of the warship loomed over him and all the cars and people stuck in place by shock or circumstance. Readying himself, Genos climbed atop an ice-cream truck and mounted its large decorative top and placed both palms together as a streams of power flowed from his chest into his limbs. Contracting and transforming, he exposed the full extent of his incinerators to the world, its power on the precipice of being revealed as well.

The few fools around him stopped running and began filming him, their scrolls and views worth more than their lives.

Genos took a breath as he could almost feel the ship crash at any second, sealing thousands of lives to an underserved fate. Civilians running stopped, heads turning at the sudden light and heat that went right through them; a second sun seemingly emerging right there on the street between the hands of the Demon Cyborg.

"Incinerate!"

Atlas armor, known across all kingdoms of its unsurpassed durability, began to disappear in its entirety. Blazing through the bow of the ship and coming out through the bottom, Genos's incineration cannon flooded the hallways of the ship with fire and immolated the inner machinations of the byzantine warship, causing multiple vital organs responsible for keeping the ship afloat to rupture and explode.

It was like a supernova spear had been sent into the ship like a missile, a glorious sky of flames expanding purging the ship, casting the shadows aside as the light lit Vale like a beacon. A wave of sheer brightness washed through the lands, rushing down the hill, over the grass, scattering clouds, and nearby distant trees ablaze. Just like that, one technological marvel simply erased the other entirely from existence, leaving nothing but ashes and a single red hot metal that was beginning to melt; on it, the words _Interpreter_ faded away. The second sunrise vanished into Genos's palms as he lowered his hands, body smoking and jerking with excess power.

Beneath him, the ice-cream man starred sweating with his jaw barely hanging on a string, a puddle of mixed goop leaking out the back of car that was once an entire locker full of ice-cream. Drivers blinked time and time again, spots fading from their eyes while also trying to confirm whether or not what they just witness was an illusion, a trick. Whispers flowed through the street as windows burst open, as heads popped out from behind cover, as fear faded from the streets of Vale.

Far above, news ships hovered with cameras covering every angle of Genos: they had recorded everything.

…

Back in the Beacon food court, Glynda watched the news feed. All she could do was shake her head. She turned back to Yang and Pyrrha. "What were you girls thinking?"

"That Genos is a very nice guy," Yang said, eyes still stuck to the screen. "I'm so glad I'm right. And that I'm so happy I'm alive."

…

"46% power left in the core: it will suffice." Genos said to himself. Bringing up the saved data within his memory, Genos made a route in his head, stringing his path for most efficiency and conservation for power. There were still other ships that were under attack out there.

"Wait," a bystander called out, stumbling back as her eyes met Genos's. "Where are you going."

"There are others who need my help," he said, dismounting from the ice-cream truck as a barrage of snaps went off: scrolls were taking pictures of him.

She swallowed. "Can we get…can we get your name?"

His back shifted as thrusters emerged again—more scrolls were pulled out, snapping away at him. Genos turned his head ever so slightly. "Genos."

With that, he vanished with an afterimage of himself, blinking into oblivion as quickly as it came. Droplets of rain began to fall in his wake, falling to the ground and causing the mist to rise as cool liquid met steaming hot ground.

Amid the rising steam, within the crowd, something akin to a real girl watched with her mouth agape as her brilliant green eyes continued to track Genos long after he had left the distance of ordinary human visibility.

She followed.

…

Fire and darkness danced across the sky: a display of firepower and Grimm, both dueling for dominance of the sky. Ironwood's flagship bulwarked the swarm back with its innumerable batteries and gouged entire chucks away from it with its incendiary cannons, setting the swarm ablaze like a curtain soaked in gasoline. As the swarm trembled and tumbled, a cocoon of fire growing over it, the warship fired all flak launchers and slung warheads at the head, middle, and tail of the swarm, forcing to form into a center mass and shattering the Grimm's formation.

But the Grimm remained stalwart in their hate and rivers of black punched through the inside of the swarm, tearing away the burning and dying of their own—useless and worthless to the horde now, shedding its wounds. Forming with Griffons as the spear head, the Grimm pushed against the storm of furious bullets that sought to bury it, and elongated again. Atlas guidance systems screamed and wailed as it detected the signs of more swarms descending.

Far above, a massive single-eyed Nevermore watched with languor as its lessers went after the humans with wild abandon. There were many of them, but it would not be enough: Atlas had the firepower and the ships to carve the tip of the swarm away until it was dulled. It flapped its mighty massive wings, watching, looming like a dark star of dread, waiting for something that would allow for its descent.

And then, in the distance, it saw its opportunity. Bellowing a sonorous caw to some of the smaller Grimm, the massive Nevermore and its newly formed army broke off from the main swarm and darted towards another Atlas vessel under attack, kilometers away.

...

A loud smack jerked Ironwood's attention to the center windshield as a Griffon slide off of it, leaving a putrid smear.

Water sprayed out from the corners of the screen. Window wipers activated slowly going from end to the other, drawing the Saitama's eyes to follow it like a hypnotic pendulum.

Qrow pinched his nose bridge. "Window wipers?"

Ironwood gave him an exasperated look. "That's what's bothering you right now?"

"It just seems," Qrow sneered at the slow moving window wipers that worked at a leisurely pace even as the skies above grew darker, "like a pointless utility."

"I don't think so. Ship screens probably need to be cleaned too," Saitama said, "I mean, if they are flying around all day, there probably isn't a place uh—park the ship and have people wipe it."

"See," Ironwood said smugly, "even he agrees."

Saitama frowned. "What do you mean by 'even he'?"

"General," the communications operator said, "the lines are open! I don't know how but…there are multiple requests for assistance! Should I put them through?"

Ironwood nodded. Immediately he was greeted with a cacophony of prayers, screams, and cries. They were begging for help. All of them.

" _Help me!"_

 _"Our vanguard is being overwhelmed!"_

 _"Grimm! Everywe—agghh!"_

 _"My daddy's not moving. A monster bit him and he isn't moving!"_

 _"This is Atlas cruiser Goliath, we are being boarded by-aghh!"_ Silence. Footsteps. " _Human scum."_

Ironwood's shoulders sank as the situation completely dawned on him. "The villages. Our patrols..."

Qrow finished the thought. "White Fang."

Possibilities sped through Ironwood's mind on how to approach this damning quandary; if he sent units out there to assist, they would likely be torn apart by the swarm before getting anywhere near the villages, but if he didn't…

" _No! Let mommy go"_ Several gunshots rang out. The unmistakable sound of something being torn apart followed. " _Mommy!"_

Gunshots and screams filled the bridge like a symphony for the damned; those unfortunate souls across the communication lines crying out in their final moments, but rendered unheard by the presence of Grimm: animalistic howls drowning screams.

The pilot swallowed. "Sir. Orders. They need our help. Sir please."

As befitting his name, Ironwood stood resolute and stolid in the face of despair. "No. Keep your focus on the swarm. The villages are lost. The patrols can fend for themselves."

A brief flash turmoil shone through the pilot's eyes, but she forced it to subside. "Ay—aye aye sir."

Ironwood looked down at the floor and exhaled. "I can feel you glaring through the back of my head Qrow. If you're going to start mocking me, do it now, and be done with it."

A snort answered him. "You sure think a lot of yourself General," Qrow said, "I could mock you anytime, about anything…but this." Qrow paused and breathed in the screams and agony, palpable pain flowing through him. "You made the right choice with this. Even if we do go out for them, all that's left to find will be bones."

The sheer bitterness of Ironwood's laugh, tinged with shameful pain, barely traveled out his lips. "You hate me Qrow. We fight about…we fight about everything that could possibly be. Hell, you fought on the _damn sprinklers_. But—here…you picked a hell of a thing to agree with me on."

Qrow frowned. "Well. Don't get used to it Jimmy," a scream drove his words to a halt. The words he was going to utter didn't quite follow. Helplessness permeated the room as more cries went unanswered; the villages would perish alone in the dark, with none of their promised defenders to help them.

Then, something within Qrow suddenly clicked, bitterness abated as a terrible idea began to take form. "Where is your nearest missile battery?"

"We have several missile batteries on the ship. Why?" Ironwood asked.

"Well, I've seen baldy jump normally. The force from that will probably punch a hole through your ship as well, but if we can get him up into the middle of the swarm…"

Understanding suddenly struck Ironwood. "Can you do that?"

"Ok." Saitama said.

"Here," Qrow said, handing Ironwood a scroll that had far too many stains on it. "Enter the coordinates for the villages."

As soon as Ironwood finished inputting the information, Qrow handed his scroll over to Saitama. "Follow the directions on this application here. Don't break it. Don't lose it. And don't click—."

Saitama's fingers accidentally slipped on the bottom of Qrow's scroll before Qrow could finish his sentence. A mellifluous series of moans drifted out from the device as Qrow placed one hand on his forehead and the other down for his flask.

"Huh. Foxy Fox," the pilot said. "She has good legs."

Qrow pulled his hand down, looking at the pilot with a very interested eye. "You watch her?"

A coy smile emerged as the pilot evaded another stream of Grimm seamlessly while engaging in conversation. "Sometimes. I have a thing for—flexibility."

Saitama wasn't so concerned with the content as he was with the device he was holding—filthy and stained. "Uh, Qrow…these are alcohol stains right?"

Ironwood pulled off his tainted glove and threw it aside before giving Qrow a disgusted glare.

Eyes looking around the room surreptitiously, Qrow could find no escape for this situation, so he decided to do what he always did: settle for audacity. A coy grin spread across his face. "You should get on the missile."

"That doesn't answer my question!"

…

The field became washed away beneath his feet like a sea of grass and dirt as Genos sped towards the duel between ships and beasts. His eyes glowed brighter as they began to adjusted to the visibility and narrowed in focus.

His eyes zoomed into the distance, triangulating the best routes of assistance—there were seven patrols in total, seven villages, fourteen ships: cruisers mostly. It was going to a sixty kilometer sprint at the very least from village to village.

For all of a minute, he passed by the academy again, air screaming behind him as he shot towards the Emerald forest.

Zooming his eyes far ahead of him, he could see his first stop: Atlas cruisers _Wayfarer, Shield,_ and _Marksman_ were beleaguered by a literal hurricane of Grimm, slowly dissembling the ships of their armor, bits and pieces flying off like stray debris. As Genos, got ever closer, he watched _Shield_ come apart as the wind of darkness that was Grimm pull it in twain and bisect vertically from bow to the tail.

"Genos!" Ruby's shrill call sudden drove him to a halt, "Genos!"

Landing hard—his legs still molten orange from his earlier acceleration—Genos turned and saw Ruby's approaching with an undulating velocity, jerking unevenly in strained bursts, trying to keep up with him.

"Geno—whoof—Genos!" Ruby breathed, "Hi."

"You're supposed to be back in the cafeteria under the watch of your professor," Genos said.

"Didn't you stop the attack already?" Ruby huffed, exhaustion clear in her voice. "We were planning to give you the whole heroes-"

Genos narrowed his eyes. "The Atlas patrols are under attack."

"What?"

A roar of a motor caused both of them to look back. With Yang at the helm, Blake perched behind her, and Weiss frowning due to be relegated to the very back, the rest of RWBY arrived.

Far away, a extended mass of the swarm split away like a tendril and slammed down on one of the cruisers, crushing _Marksman_ utterly. Genos narrowed his eyes. "You all should go back. This battle is far too dangerous for any of you."

"Hey," Weiss said, as Glyphs formed in front of Genos: a runway for his takeoff. "At least let us give you a boost. You don't need to do everything on your own."

Genos gave her an appreciative nod.

"Just don't miss. I don't want this to be a waste of my effort."

Genos nodded. "That won't happen."

Taking a few steps back, Genos narrowed his eyes in focus as numbers sped through his eyes, calculations percise. He would have to hit the center mass at just the right speed—too fast and he would punch right through, too slow and he would just collide against the swarm. Thrusters full of white fire opened across his legs and back as his core beckoned him to unleashed all he had.

He would oblige.

With a sudden flash of fire and smoke, the earth beneath where Genos turned to ashes, and a sudden explosion of air and force rattled both teams to their bones. Trails of fire scarred the land past where Weiss's glyphs once were as they looked on in amazement, the flow of air bending around the small fiery comet that was Genos.

In the first second, Genos watched the ground turn to a blur. The second, he lifted his head up and bore witness to the unending darkness that was the Grimm. The third was marked by a tremendous impact and an explosion of splatted Grimm of fire as Genos punctured through the swirling dark mass.

Still going even while he was inside, Genos frowned and with a blast of fire from one leg, flipped in mid-air, smashing his foot down on the skull of an unwary griffon within the inner folds of the swarm, and when he felt the beast's skull completely crumple beneath his metal limb, he ignited his booster once more.

He sliced the swarm apart as he skated across the inside of the swarm. Leveling arms and legs down against the horde at a full blast, a white searing beat cut began to disembowel the swarm like a bladed carousel going against the movement of the Grimm. Entire contingents of dark were purged away by the bright that was Genos, growing ever hotter and faster every second, a juggernaut against any Grimm that tried to strike him aside on the inside—ripping through everything in his path like a sword through butter.

"Well," Blake said, masking her astonishment quite well in the distance, as waves of bladed fire slashed upwards into the sky, causing flaming darkness to erupt in luminous spurts. They couldn't see the Grimm but they certainly could tell that Genos was having an effect on the swarm. "I guess he didn't miss."

Weiss's jaw was too far down for her to respond.

The swarm, once a sea of dark, now found itself bleed to a sliver of its former self; now it could merely be considered a pond. The few Grimm with sense began to break away from the swarm, escaping into the sky to fight another day. Genos, now left bereft of a mountain of Grimm to skate on, decided that he was going to try a new game of trampoline, using fire and Grimm to bounce himself across the sky.

From one to another he more blasted off of than bounced. Ashes intermingled with dissipating Grimm in the air as they found themselves burned away utterly, completely. Soon, the last Grimm disappeared in a burst of cleansing light, leaving Genos and the scarred cruiser the only things afloat in that region.

Flipping through the air, Genos fired his boosters a few times to slow his descent onto the ship. Sparks emerged briefly between his heel and the hull and then ceased as his slide became a stride, going towards the bridge.

Shocked and thankfully faces, marred with blood, covered in sweat and bandages looked on at Genos, approaching them, untouched by the Grimm, an invincible cybernetic savior. Before the very front of the shattered windshield, he stopped and gazed inwards—several Faunus bodies dressed in similar uniforms littered the ground inside the bridge: White Fang.

"Are you all unharmed?" Genos asked.

The captain swallowed the lump in her throat. "Not completely, but we could be worse."

Genos looked at the terrible damage done to the ship, his eye detecting multiple breaches and a terrible strain left on the remaining engine, possibly about to detonate from the sheer pressure at any moment. "Land and seek medical assistance."

"Wait!" the captain shuffled awkwardly, unsure if she could even ask this favor of Genos. "There are villages outside under attack as well. We know the last known location of a few of them, but since contact was cut—"

"I know."

With something akin to a casual hop done by a child, Genos disappeared from sight. Dumbfounded stares drifted off into the empty horizon, now devoid of Grimm. "Well," the captain said, exhaustion evident. "I think some shore leave is in order."

…

Sitting uncomfortably on the missile as the latch above him opened, Saitama petulantly adjusted Qrow's scroll, now tucked under his belt as he tried not to think about the amount of bleach he would have to use on his uniform.

Maybe he could get some free laundry back at Beacon now that he was an instructor.

"Baldy," Qrow's voice said. Saitama looked around.

"Qrow?"

"I am talking to you through the scroll. Oh by the way, if there is ever static, just whack it on the back; some fluids might drip out and that fixes the problem."

Saitama really wanted to do some laundry.

"Alri—gah, dammi—"

"This is Ironwood. Listen closely, because once you get launched there is no turning ba—"

"Give me that," Saitama frowned as he heard a brief scuffle on the other side along with a few smacks. "Sorry, Jimmy was being real bad at sharin—"

"It's my scroll Qrow!"

"I loaned mine to him!"

"You can wait!"

"How about no."

Alarms rang out in the room as the engineer gave Saitama a thumbs up. "Uh guys," Saitama said, as the argument continued on the other side.

"Just jump off while the—Qrow, touch me again and I'll fire you off a missile too—off the missile when you get in the midst of the swar—"

"Just swat them all to death—"

"I was telling him that Qrow!"

"You were taking your sweet time with it."

"Anyway," Ironwood said, sighing, "When you…land or whatever it is you plan to do, we will be updating the coordinates of the villages to the scroll you're carrying. Just follow it, and it will guide you."

"Ok," Saitama replied.

"Pull your punches when you get to the villages," Ironwood said. "You don't know how many survivors could be down there and with the way you fight…just don't break the moon again."

The tip of the missile began to rise through the opening, as Saitama slowly felt himself follow. He emerged atop a hull under a large shadow; the Grimm swarm was chasing them all across the sky, despite the pilot's best efforts, dodging and weaving.

The missile ignited on the bottom, lifting up into the air and soaring towards the Grimm. Saitama picked his nose.

As a wave of Grimm came to intercept, Saitama stood up on the missile in a surfing position, knees bent and as his bald head increased the aerodynamic nature of the missile against the laws of physics. Colliding with the Grimm, the missile exploded with Saitama still atop, fading into the blast.

"Missile has made impact sir," a technician reported.

Ironwood watched, listlessly for any sign of Saitama. He quickly received it as the explosion seemed to be repelled from within as blasts of air began tearing through the ranks of the Grimm, leaving large gaping wounds in the swarm. Light from the sun shone through the gaps and found its place on the ship again.

"Focus the monitor. Track him," Ironwood ordered. His breath stopped as it became clear just what Saitama was doing.

Consecutive side-hops were considered not intense enough to be part of the Atlas training regimen, thought more as a breather exercise than anything conducive. The creator of the trainer regimen would have been fired after Saitama's arrival: the man was doing more drastically damage with side-hops than half of Ironwood arsenal.

"Is he doing basic warm-up exercises on them?" the pilot asked, eyes bulging slightly at Saitama's hyper-athletic offensive causing ripples of supersonic explosions to rip openings through multiple Grimm swarms across the sky. "He's going really fast, but…sir, I know side-hops when I see them."

Soaring even into the distance as he side-hopped across the backs of more Grimm, faster than his damage could be seen, leaving his former platforms to be rendered null by force from existence.

"Side-hops." Ironwood said with a sigh. "We fired him out a missile and he's outdoing the damage of the actual payload with side-hops."

"What did you expect," Qrow said. "Didn't we meet this guy as he was breaking our moon?"

"Yes but…he's impossible. No hunter is capable of even a thousandth of what he's capable of. And beyond all his abnormalities of power, he just seems…plain. Nothing extraordinary behind him, nothing…he doesn't make any sense."

Qrow snickered. "If that bothers you'll love what he told me gave him his abilities."

Ironwood's interest was piqued beyond measure. "He told you the secret to his power?"

Qrow snorted. "Yeah…secret. If you could call doing a hundred push-ups, a hundred sit-ups, a hundred-squats, and running ten kilometers to be a secret technique, we should all be obliterating stars now."

"A hundred…" Ironwood looked at Qrow like the man had gone insane. "He's mocking us."

"You've met him," Qrow said. "Does he look like the type that would mock us?"

"Nothing about that explanation makes any sense."

Qrow jerked his head towards where Saitama was doing his side-hops not too long ago outside the ship; only a smidgeon of the once overwhelming Grimm swarm remained, a travesty of its former might, now left to Atlas's mercy. In the distance, a dot continued onwards, explosions of air following it.

And just like that, in a matter of minutes, what was to be a desperate battle turned into another joke.

The few Grimm that remained howled in confusion and rage, the swarm lost but not their desire for blood. The minute swarm, much like its prior incarnation, was undeterred by the destruction of its own, choosing to dive upon the Atlas flagship in a last ditch effort to tear through, to do what they were always meant to: rip and tear.

Their intention became their fate as a wave of destruction burnt their presence away in a hail of plasma, shells, and explosions courtesy of Atlas.

"That should be the rest of them sir," the pilot said. "Skies are—and now they finally show up."

The KAS _Troy_ lumbered slowly towards Ironwood's flagship, smoke drifting out the sides, terribly damaged but still functional. "Set course to rendezvous with the _Troy,"_ Ironwood said, relaxing slightly. "

"Wait!" Qrow cried out, drawing his blade. "That's not—"

"Qrow," Ironwood said, "now isn't the time."

"Grimm." Qrow hissed. Ironwood looked back and finally noticed what Qrow had seen.

Deep in the shadows of the wounds of the _Troy,_ red eyes starred, still and unblinking. Within the shattered bridge, a single large orb looked out right at Ironwood. As the _Troy_ turned further, mutterings of disbelief and horror drifted through the bridge as the crew witnessed a small legion of griffons pushing against the side of the _Troy's_ intact side to steer the hollowed ship at Ironwood. The Grimm wore the hollowed out ship like a glove.

"Incoming!" the pilot cried. "Brac-"

Her warning came too late as the massive scarred vessel of the _Troy_ smashed hull upon greater hull, sending battered bodies of helmsmen and crackling, sparking machinery scattering across the bridge. A series of explosions shook through the interior of the _Troy_ as Grimm tore through its insides to board Ironwood's ship. The plates still on the _Troy_ were dented outwards and cast down to the earth below as Grimm forced their way out of the ship, crawling through to board the flaghship.

Pulling himself to his feet, Ironwood cursed as he noticed a web of cracks spread across the front window of the bridge. "Lower armor over windshields. Operator, activate our knights and get our special forces into their paladins." He pulled out the pistol and began walking towards the front of the bridge, locking with the Nevermore's red iris, still glaring at him from within the shadows of the _Troy._ "Brace for impact."

Armor began to seal the bridge completely, shutting all the reinforced glass away from the touch of the Grimm, as the main windshield of the bridge—already cracked and weakened—had its plate descend on it like a curtain, Ironwood saw a colossal shadow burst through the insides of the _Troy's_ bridge, coming right at him.

"Get units outside out on the hull now. Deploy fighters. All you in front," he waved his pistol at all the operators nearest to the very front of the bridge, "fall back behind me and draw your weapons."

The pilot spat out her cough drop and replaced it with a strip of gum, chewing away like there was nothing wrong in the world. Her next action was to place her side-arm on her lap as she continued attempting to pull the ship away from the _Troy,_ now grinding against them in its final moments.

"A mark-3?" Qrow said, eyeing her gun. "That won't do anything to the Grimm."

All her focus was on piloting. "It's not for the Grimm."

"Won't come to that."

"Funny," she said, bitterly. "Think that's the last thing my mom said to me."

Across each screen that Ironwood could see, battles were being fought all across his ship as Griffons were repelled from the openings they made on his ship by the Knight anti-boarding units. Atop the midsection of the ship, paladins and squadrons of Nevermore's exchanged fire; the razor edged quills of the winged beasts no match for the sheer arsenal on the paladin.

Then came the dreaded sound that Ironwood was waiting for: the echoing impact followed by the dent. Ironwood frowned and tilted his head, listening carefully as he watched the dent, waiting for the second blow.

Taking off his coat and tie, placing them on a nearby chair, Ironwood checked his pistol one more time. "When I give the order," as the second blow was dealt, "lift the front plate and only the front plate."

One of the officer's starred at Ironwood, horrified. "Sir…that's suicide. They'll flood in and…"

"…and if we wait, death is definite. Shut it after we leave." Ironwood made a fist with his augmented arm. Qrow wandered up beside him, downing a drink from his flask before offering it to Ironwood.

Ironwood eyed Qrow, then the drink. "I appreciate, but decline."

"That's fine," Qrow said. "Wasn't anything left in there anyway. Just wanted you to hold and taste nothing."

"What point would that serve?" Ironwood asked, as the plating cracked from another blow.

"Well," Qrow sniffed," the thought of you possibly dying without being disappointed one last time kinda bothered me."

Ironwood granted Qrow a spiteful laugh. "I'll try not to die before you do."

Qrow rolled his eyes. "Guess I'll just have to live through this then."

Ironwood breathed in and out; three seconds in, four out. "Lift it."

Against every fiber of his body, the officer complied.

The massive, scarred Nevermore, rearing back for another charge did not expect such a counter. It only managed a confused caw before the two hunters tackled it out of the air. In a mess of feathers, blades, and limbs they landed hard on the hull of the ship, battles happening all around them as Grimm were obliterated under sustained fire and machine parts rained down from the sky.

Rearing his fist up into the air, Ironwood drew first blood. His palm collided hard against the Nevermore's remaining eye, smashing its head down against the hyper-durable alloy of the hull, denting it with the beast's skull with every blow. Qrow settled for the Grimm's limbs, hacking the tendons that held the beast together.

Pulling its head back off the hull, Ironwood prepared to crush the Nevermore's skull completely, but stopped suddenly as he felt the beast's claws wrap across his metal arm. For a fraction of a second, Ironwood could have sworn the beast smiled at him. The sky suddenly became a blur as Ironwood felt his back crack hard against his ship. Death grip established on Ironwood's limb, the Nevermore turned its head ever so slowly towards Qrow, before doing something that completely unprecedented: it pushed itself further onto his blade.

Qrow's eyes widened he saw the Nevermore raise Ironwood over his head, clearing enjoying the moment. "Oh sh—"

Qrow weaved left as Ironwood shot into the hull, cracking the plates beneath him utterly. Ironwood scrambled back up into his stance, more annoyed than hurt while Qrow struggled to free his blade.

A massive claw, gripped the sword by the edge and pushed it further inwards to the Nevermore's torn flesh with excited growls and eager yanks. Sighing, Qrow decided to stop fighting the flow and go with it. "Ah, what the hell."

From within the Nevermore, the blade transformed into a scythe, tearing through the beast's back. Reversing his grip on his weapon, Qrow lifted it upwards in a sweeping motion, cutting the Grimm opening from stomach to throat and freeing his blade. The Nevermore didn't even bother to respond in pain, choosing to merely look down at its wounds momentarily, and tilt its head at the two hunters.

"You ever seen a Nevermore do that?" Ironwood asked.

"Throw you around or seem to enjoy the pain?"

Rearing its massive wings back, Qrow lifted his blade as Ironwood took cover behind him in anticipation of the rain of deadly feathers. Instead, they were met with a soft gust of wind as the Nevermore drifted back a few feet, landing by a ruined knight before picking it up.

Snapping the knight in half, the Nevermore ripped the wiring from insides of the robot, dragging the heated broken machine across its wounds. A chilling high caw drifted out the Nevermore's beak as it leisurely cauterized its pain away, like it was enjoying every second.

Qrow and Ironwood rushed it again, not letting their sheer surprise get the better of them.

"How did it know to do that?" Qrow said, sliding under the knight's lower half being thrown at him.

Blocking a cleave of the creature's wing with his right arm, Ironwood gritted his teeth. "I don't know."

Biting at Ironwood while Qrow hewed its wings, the Nevermore seemed to make a game out of the ordeal, nibbling near Ironwood's face before smashing its head against his fist for the sake of a greater impact. Stunned at the way the Nevermore fought, Ironwood pushed his offensive harder.

With each punch he threw, the Nevermore seemed to greet with its skull time and time again, gratefully, obligingly. Its back was in tatters from the slices that Qrow granted it, darkness was leaking out face, cracked and splattered across its skull, yet, it seemed like the Nevermore was having the time of its life rather than a serious fight.

Annoyed at how drawn out the whole affair had become, Qrow mounted Grimm's back and drug his blade behind up right up through the spine of the Nevermore, ending right at the head. Leaping off the top of the Nevermore, Qrow descending with a flip, scythe still raised, splitting the Grimm's lower jaw in twain.

Seizing the opportunity, Ironwood followed up by shooting the Grimm in its joints and twist his waist back as he brought his fist under him.

Ironwood's uppercut landed right through the separated folds of Grimm's lower beak, metal knuckles meeting the roof inside the Nevermore's mouth. Launched upwards by the force of the blow, the Nevermore was launched into the air as Ironwood and Qrow raised their weapons at it, unleashing every last round that they had into it.

Holes appeared across its body in the dozens as it smashed back down into the hull, tumbling along the still moving ship. Ironwood and Qrow lowered the guns as the Nevermore just kept rolling further, seemingly lifeless

And then, around sixty meters away, it stopped. It lifted itself off the hull with one lazy wing as narrowed its one remaining eye Ironwood and Qrow, hands caressing its own wounds. Something moved up the Nevermore's throat, before it spat something out.

The clank of shells clattered against the hull and bounced off into the wind. "How?" Ironwood said, looking at the Grimm, now all alone as its fellow creatures had been hunted to the last, spreading its wings indolently before him. Paladins, knights, and unmanned fighters took their position behind Ironwood and Qrow, prepared to put an end to the beast once and for all.

"Kill it," Ironwood ordered.

A maelstrom of ordinance came down at the Grimm, who roared with open arms, welcoming it. Explosions and smoke covered its presence as it faded under the steady stream of fire. "Cease fire," Ironwood said, hand raised.

As the wind blew away the smoke, all that was left to greet Ironwood was an uprooted plate of his ship's hull. Bent across crudely, covered in marks and spent shells, Ironwood breathed out in disbelief as he heard the damnable caw come out in the dsitance; the Grimm had used the ship's own armor against him. "Did that thing just…"

Qrow looked at Ironwood and then at the uprooted plate. "Yep."

Meanwhile, in the distance, trees were being launched into the air by the hundreds.

…

"Sir! Our operatives are being repelled across all ships! They're saying that a 'machine-man' and a 'side-hopping lightbulb' of some sort are laying waste to our hordes. They can't keep holding on. Orders?"

Adam gripped his chair, jaw tightening along with his grip, a conflagration of pure bewilderment and hatred taking hold of his insides. Cinder promised that the offensive was guaranteed. She promised a lie! His men were running, like cowed but not cowards, Adam could see that; they were literally running through the hordes of Grimm that they were herding to get away from… _something._

Entire armies of dots representing the Grimm simply ceased to be in existence, disappearing off his monitor faster than their salvaged Atlas systems could keep pace with. Something had been unleashed upon the battlefield, something that had the capacity of undiminished destruction, focused tracking abilities, and seemingly limitless energy to keep going.

Did Atlas have a new super-weapon?

Shaking Grimm thoughts aside, Adam stood up and gave a clear order, one that he knew was right, but would cut him to the quick of his soul to give. "Fall back. This day is lost."

"Sir," his lieutenant growled, "I must ask you reconsider. Precious time and lives have been lost on this operation. To simply abandon it now—"

A long, massive trunk of a tree came down, through the front of their tent, shattering their monitor and crushing a single unfortunate operator beneath it.

Even as his life fled him. The operator failed to understand what had just transpired. "Ho—howggkkk…"

For several long seconds, no words went between Adam and his lieutenant as both found it quite adequate to stare blankly at the smashed operator while the thuds of more trees falling on their camp echoed into the torn tent.

Then, another trunk, twice the size of the first came down that the tent, fixed to smear all those within to paste. It was hewed to more reasonable size pieces by Adam's reflexive off-hand swing. Part of the trunk stay, impaled on Adam's sword, held above his lieutenant's head. A small nut fell out the trunk onto the lieutenant, followed by a snarling squirrel chasing it.

"Alright!" the lieutenant cried, suddenly snapping into action. "You heard the commander, retreat! Retreat you slow beasts!"

Adam slumped back into his chair, hand on his mask, cold sweat breaking out across his body. Just what did Atlas unleashed upon his men anyway?

…

"The Ozpin guy won't be happy about this," Saitama said to himself as his side-hopping took him through the newly repaired Forever Fall, the sheer pace of his speed causing undeniable force to pluck entire trees, and at times the earth itself, from bedrock, thrown towards the horizon.

"Hopefully that doesn't land on anyone." Saitama didn't have time to worry about all that; there was still a sea of darkness his side-hops to burn dry. Looping through the re-ruined Forever Fall in circling loops, then back up into the sky to confront another swarm, before coming back downwards in a few longer leaps than before due to the dissolution of most the Grimm, Saitama found himself zooming towards another woodland area, where a few ships and a village were supposed to be.

Saitama looked down at Qrow's scroll and back up at the top half of the ship covered in Grimm. A wave of fire turned 'covered' into 'none'. A lone individual stood atop the ship, still shining as the sun went down.

"Huh." Saitama said as he hopped off the last griffon, already coming apart from the aftershock of his hop. "Genos?"

Atop the ship, Genos stood, the glow in his incinerator flickering. "Fourteen percent power remaining—what?" He saw a very familiar bald head descend past the ship, calling his name. "Master?"

He unhesitatingly followed him down.

"Master!" Genos exclaimed as he landed on soft farmland, surprised. The village burned behind him like giant twisted bonfire. "You're here too."

Saitama landed in an unbalanced few bounces, kicking up soft mud and crushed grass into the air. For a few moments, Saitama starred unblinking at Genos, who starred back, trying to infer what his master was doing from the wobble within Saitama's leg. Then agony ripped through Saitama's features.

"Agghhhh!" Saitama groaned, legs wobbling. He held up a single hand telling Genos to hold, eyes grimacing in pain. "Genos…understand how lucky you are…"

Genos's breath increased as terror filled him completely; what was happening to his master?

"…that you don't need to stretch before doing side-hops or any other forms of exercise. Cramps really hurt."

Genos's terror was promptly hit by a train with Saitama's face, and all was well in the world. "I…see. Master. But, how did you know we were under attack?"

"I was on Ironwood's ship and people started calling for help." Saitama said while stretching his legs a bit, working out his cramps. "That's about it."

Genos nodded. "I just finished a training session with Teams RWBY and JNPR—I must tell you more about that later. We might have broken a few things but it was acceptable in the end though we were reprimanded. Regardless, we went to the cafeteria when suddenly the earth began to shake. The doors opened and students rushed in fleeing from a rogue ship. I decided to chase that ship and while aboard I discovered the plight of the patrols and the villages. I followed their signals-"

"Genos," Saitama said, irate, "you could have told me that in two sentences. 'I stopped a rogue ship. I followed the signals.' It doesn't always need to be an entire story."

"I understand master. But I seek to be elaborative and encompassing with my reports to you so that you can instruct me in what did wrong so that I may increase my capabilities as a hero."

"So you said something about a rogue ship?"

"Yes," Genos said, "its captain was the last survivor aboard and was under the influence of an unidentified substance. I was forced to obliterate the ship with my incinerators in order to stop it from crashing on the city."

"Oh. Hmm?"

Genos lifted his head up and looked out into the sky. "There are fourteen ships patrolling. I think there are around three that I failed to located. They might already be taken or—"

Soft footsteps intruded on their conversation, causing Genos to turn with both incinerators primed. Through thick smoke, a small girl laboriously dragging a large gun-far too big for her- with a distant look in her eyes slowly wandered up to Genos and Saitama. She was wearing a small burgundy dress, now stained with mud and torn in several places. She had noticeable ears like a foxes that twitched with every step, while her cheeks were covered with dried tears and a dried blood. She couldn't have been older than eight.

Wobbling unsteadily, she stumbled, dropping her gun and collapsing. Genos caught her before the ground could. Her eyes fluttered weakly as she went limp in Genos's arms. "Are you okay?"

The small girl weakly opened her eyes.

"Mom," the child's hoarsely begged. "Do you know where the rest my mommy is. A monster carried part of her off. I need to fix her."

"Genos—" Saitama fell silent, though possibly knowing the grisly fate of the girl's mother, seeing Genos's form stiffen as he looked down at the child, face hardened, hands shaking. Wordlessly, Saitama stepped back and gave Genos some room.

Scanning through the village, all Genos found were prone bodies without heart beats, heat long since faded from the area beyond the fires that spread from house to house; it was unlikely anyone else made it out.

Genos didn't have the heart to tell her the truth, neither did he have the strength to look down at the body again. "Where is your father."

The girl bit her lip. "He's at home. He told mom to take me and run. He said that he would come find us later. But one of the monsters bit mom and I got lost…"

A few stray tears dripped out of her eyes, but she held the rest at bay, keeping her face strong. "Can you help me find him."

His mouth opened but no words emerged. His jaw finally decisively closed shut.

Brightness faded from her face and hope left her eyes. "The monsters got him too didn't they."

Genos's just looked down. She pulled herself further into him, hiding from the torment and horror that was her burning home. Genos waited for her to cry, but no tears came; she continued staring blankly into his chest, limp and exhausted.

Growls drew Saitama's attention away from the crying girl and back into the woods. He could see their red eyes coming through the darkness under the few trees still standing.

"The Grimm sense negative emotions," Genos said, eyes tracking where the Grimm were while lifting an arm, incinerator ready. "I learned that in Professor Oobleck's class earlier. That's how the managed to get so focused against Atlas, and driven towards the village. I think the White Fang guided them here."

"The general—uh. Ironwall…and Qrow were saying something about them too."

The Grimm approached menacingly, stalking their prey. Saitama yawned.

"There were a few bodies of the White Fang aboard a cruiser," Genos said. "They failed to take over it seems."

With the only warning being a short whistle from the deep in hidden woods, dozens of swords burst through the bodies of each of the Grimm, held in the air by an unseen force. Saitama and Genos watched as the dozen blades continued their brief, overwhelming dance, splitting Grimm apart in group and body, culling what remains of the horde.

"The swords are attached to something, master," Genos said, eyes detecting the barely visible wires that linked the swords to their puppeteer. Tracing along the strings and enhancing his vision, Genos looked far off into the woods, his expression matching the face he found.

Her eyes were an almost perfect uncanny hue green of green, and she seemed to be starring right back at him, eyes wide, wondering if Genos had actually seen her. Curiosity seemed to come over her features as she began her approach.

Genos readied his incinerator and pulled the little fox-eared girl closer to him.

As more light fell on her form, he could see her come through the woods as the blades returned to her, dangling in the air before forming a circle and retreating into her body, swallowed by her back like it was where they always belonged.

Saitama looked at Genos, looking at Penny, looking right back at Genos.

The two scanned each other, gazing as their inner mechanics befuddled the other to an unlimited extent. A resplendent smile across Penny's face as she shot her hand out to Genos. "Salutations!"

After a moment of awkward hesitation, Genos took her hand and shook it.

…

 **Note** : On the dark/bright side depending on who you are, Roman is back. He's going to be a terrorist now; think of it as prestige classing. Negative emotion tracking is a hell of a power: all you need to do is have a torture chamber or a nihilist stuck in the back of a transport shuttle and you got an instant bait-puller, and it works like clockwork. That being said, the White Fang didn't really have a good day today; it was like deadliest catch but they only got three lobsters. Don't worry though, because Cinder has a cunning plan…(cue evil remix of A-Team music) Once again though, I must reiterate my thanks for all those that are reading, and especially to those who nitpick and find the flaws in the work; if anything displeases you, then it can be made better. I have been reading over your critiques of Glynda-Genos interactions and will absolutely commit to more practice in mastering their tone so that a proper dynamic—a believable dynamic can be formed. For now, the Calm has come to its close, and the rain is upon Beacon. Will it survive? Well, it better get some industrial goddamn urinals, that's for sure.


	14. Escalation I: Withdrawal

Author's Note: Were this mine, things would explode more. Walruses would be used as blunt weapons as well.

Escalation I:

Withdrawal

"Headmaster, we must remain calm in circumstances like these."

The fact that Ozpin's breathing was growing more and more audible told her that calm was simply not on his mind right now.

"We've been through attacks like this before, dealt with far more treacherous situations, but the key here is that we have to rally the students and not let our own emotions cloud our mi—"

"I'm fine," Ozpin said, nodding at Glynda with an emptiness in his eyes that promised the void to the one that brought such exquisite agony on him. "I am well…and completely fine."

"Headmaster…your shivering."

"It's just cold."

A several large trees were impaled through Ozpin's office—judging by their color and appearance, they were flung all the way over from the Forever Fall. The walls were punctured open, revealing glimpses of the dimming sky on the brink of turning to night. Scattered across the floor were smashed clumps of stone, marble, mahogany, and glass; the office lay in ruins as the miscellaneous materials that coated the cracked ground were all the remained of a very fabulous desk. Ozpin had it specially made.

Gripping his cracked mug in his hand tight, Ozpin wandered across the room, ignoring all the damage around him. He didn't spare a passing glance at the paint of the _Battle of Witherwind Port_ , split in twain with twigs protruding outwards; he didn't grant a glance to his shattered statue of Freya Falka, legendary huntress now turned to rubble; he didn't even think about expense that would come with replacing his console, with terabytes of classified information now turned to scrap.

No, what drew him forth into a numbness induced by pain was in the far corner of the room. Glynda, finally noticed what truly pained the Headmaster and pinched the bridge of her nose. Running his hand across its crumpled frame—tree still weighing down heavily atop it—Ozpin nodded and patted his dearest possession farewell.

"That can be replaced within the hour. Out of all the things—"

"It just won't be the same," Ozpin said, looking down that the fallen Expresso-Master Deluxe. Opening his mouth but finding no words, he settled for a final, gentle caress before pulling away, and letting go.

Looking down into the few meager droplets of coffee left in his mug, Ozpin calculated what it would take to help him survive the rest of the day. A waterfall of sweat descended from his brow. "Professor Goodwitch, rally the students. Class is cancelled for the rest of the day."

"They already assumed that." Goodwitch sighed. "Considering they were fired at by a rogue Atlas warship, I doubt any of the would actually attend even if we continued classes."

"Good," Ozpin said. "Very good. Bring me the General. And Qrow. You said that Genos went out and stopped the warship right? Bring him too."

"Very well." Goodwitch sighed. "I assume I need to put in an emergency order for a replacement coffee maker as well."

"That would be for the best."

Glynda turned to leave, stepping over a large branch on the way.

"Also," Ozpin said, eyes growing darker, deeper with acrimony, "find our new guest lecturer. I must talk to—we must find out what transpired today."

Acknowledging Ozpin half-heartedly, Goodwitch set off. Meanwhile, a bird popped its head out from the inside tree and scanned its surroundings. Tentatively it flapped over Ozpin, circled him several times, dropping its droppings into his mug.

Goodwitch doubled her pace towards the elevator as she heard Ozpin breath in as if he was trying to flay the very flesh of the bird off through his nose. There must be an Expresso-Master in town somewhere.

…

"Salutations!"

"My name is Penny!" Penny started, still shaking Genos's hand vigorously, discomfort clearly visible in the cyborg. "Penny Polendina! I saw you disintegrate the war ship back in the city. How did you do that? The power output you must have must have been sen-sational! What power source do you use? Which kingdom were you made by? Were you made by the doctor as well?"

Genos turned his head to Saitama, looking for guidance in this avalanche of dialogue. Noticing the confused befuddlement in Genos's expression, Saitama drew upon the only experience he could in this matter: speed dating reality television—there were times that Saitama was far too lazy to reach for the remote and turn the television off. "I think you should go in order and address each one of her questions and give her a rose if you thin—I mean, try to find out what she wants."

Penny suddenly found herself staring at Saitama, her look of sheer wonder growing by the second. "You! You were the bright source of light that I mistook as a missile earlier! Why, you destroyed a veritable army of Grimm. How did you accomplish such a task? Did you know that you are completely and utterly bald, without a single hair even in growth on your head? That's highly irregular. You should see a doctor."

Faced with a similar barrage of questions, and the reminder of his baldness for the thousandth time that day, Saitama was unsure how to react. Noticing his master's predicament, Genos did what any good pupil would do and stepped up. "Penny."

Penny blinked at Genos and nodded.

"How did you find me in the woods? What do you want with us? Who manufactured you?"

"Manufactured?" Saitama asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I followed you all the way from Vale, but you were extraordinarily fast even by standards used to measure airships, so you eventually disappeared. You were not that hard to track due trails of fire that you left behind and fading Grimm. I just followed the destruction, and the destruction led me to you! Would you like to answer one of my questions now?"

Genos considered for a moment and accepted. "Very well. Which question would you like me to answer."

Penny's eyes seemed to spin in place as she pondered the most perplexing issue present to her. "Why is there a complete absence of hair on his head? Does that have to do with his immeasurably dense muscle and bone structure."

"Why does everyone keep reminding me that I'm bald," Saitama said, face turning slightly red, a detail that Penny did indeed notice.

"Theory: severe stress and frustration can cause premature loss of hair."

"Though that is indeed possible, that is not how master lost all his hair," Genos said.

"Why are you encouraging her!"

"He has undergone training so extreme that his strength has grown to become unmatched, at the cost of all his hair."

"How fascinating," Penny smiled, "his training must have been incredibly rigorous. Is that how he was capable of destroying all those Grimm? But nothing suggests he could fly?"

"I can't," Saitama said. "I just jumped across the Grimm—"

"From one Grimm to another? Ex-emplary! So that shine reflected must have been your head."

Saitama closed his eyes and counted to ten. He was bald and he wasn't bothered. He was bald and that's okay.

"What is it that you seek from us?" Genos interjected.

"I had to talk to you. I thought I was the only one, and then you entered the city. Then you disintegrated the ship—I—odd, I am having a difficult process composing my thoughts into a sentence. I just…had to speak with you, because you're like me."

"Like him?" Saitama said, before he suddenly understood. "Genos, is that why asked where she was manufactured?"

Genos nodded. "Her components are undoubtable mechanical, but completely alien in technology to my design, and her source of power is unidentifiable."

"Power source? Like most machines, I run on au-." Penny stated before suddenly remembering that she was effectively a military secret. Penny covered her mouth.

"Aura," Genos said, preparing to go further before the small girl shifted against his arm. Genos scowled to himself; he had gotten distracted by the conversation for too long. It was around this time that Penny finally managed to notice the small survivor as well.

With her small fox-ears laid flat over her head, the little Faunus girl kept her tear stricken face down at the dirt, daring not to meet anyone's face.

"Oh dear," Penny said, in a pitying tone that was slightly exaggerated. "Her village seemed to have been destroyed." The flames in the village continued to crackle, seemingly clapping sarcastically at her words. "She seems uninjured but may receive severe psychological trauma for an extended period of time."

Saitama sent Penny a horrified expression, flabbergasted with why she would say such a thing with the victim present. Noticing the negative reactions her words were getting from Genos and Saitama's faces, Penny shuffled her feet nervously. "Was what I said inappropriate? I'm sorry. I am getting better with expressing happiness and exultation, but sadness and other emotions of its spectrum are still quite hard for me to grasp. I think I may need more practice."

Genos was about to open his mouth when the small girl spoke, cutting his voice off before it could begin. "It's—it's okay." She sniffed. "You didn't mean it so it's okay."

Moving closer to Genos, Penny smiled at the small girl still trying to remain hidden in Genos's arms. Kneeling down, Penny lowered herself face to face with the girl and gave her best smile. "Salutations." Penny said with a contained, quiet enthusiasm. "I'm Penny."

The small girl lifted her head ever so slightly, sniffling as she wiped a few tears away from her face, inching her eyes upward captiously as if Penny's was blinding to look at. Finally, as the girl mustered all the composure she could, she met Penny face to face and saw the hand offered over to her. Tentatively, flinchingly, but ultimately bravely, the girl reached out and took it. "H—hi. I'm Robin. You say that word a lot."

"Which word?" Penny asked.

"Sal—salute—" Robin twitched her nose as she tried to pronounce the word.

"Salutations." Penny said. Robin nodded.

"Indeed I do," Penny said. "I do not know why. I simply like the word. Do you like the word?"

Robin thought to herself for a moment and nodded. "It's really hard to pronounce but I think I heard mom…." The girl fell silent again. Penny's eyes widened and she tried on her best sympathetic face.

"Would you like to leave now?" Genos asked softly.

Lifting her head up to look at Genos for the longest time, Robin swallowed several times, clearly conflicted—she looked around as best as she could, looking for something that she just couldn't seem to find. "Yes, but...okay."

Then, as by fate or chance, Saitama noticed a glint in the dirt, sparking with the dancing flames. Walking over, and brushing off the dirt and revealing a small necklace with a blue jewel strung through it, the hues ever fluid, like the ocean itself with turning within the jewel. Picking it up gently, Saitama made his way back.

Standing next to Genos, Saitama leaned over Robin without expression. With a brief moment of hesitation, he offered up the necklace with his other hand, watching the small girl stir in clear recognition. Somewhere between a speck of joy and a sea of misery, Robin reached out and accepted the jewel into her palm. A tear fell on the blue jewel as Robin brought it close to her chest, holding it like it was going to be taken from her soon.

"Can we leave now? Please?" Robin choked out.

They were only too happy to oblige.

Pushing her up his arm for more comfort, Genos stood up and began walking as Penny trailed behind him, hiding most the burning village with her bright smile. Saitama picked his nose.

They got around fifty steps when a large shadow descended before them. Crunching down on the ruined earth and tree stumps, they watched the scarred flagship open its hangar door; several lines of mechs, soldiers, paladins, and a few tanks stood at the ready. In front of them stood Ironwood and Qrow, looking quite disheveled.

"Penny?" Ironwood muttered.

"Hi General!" Penny waved from behind Genos.

…

Droplets of sweat dripped off Ozpin's fingers, still clenching the sullied mug tight. Students gave him a wide berth as he walked down the school's amphitheater, the entire area abuzz with activity and movement.

Stumbling more than walking, the Headmaster drifted through a dreary haze of his school; head pounding heart pumping erratically, vaguely aware of what was happening around him. Medics in white and students alike flowed around him into and out of the school grounds. In the distance, there was a wall of smoke rising—Ozpin only noticed the large hunks of tortured steel that were once patrol ships below. Atlas crews were dragged in, many wounded and the rest exhausted. Separated from them was a line of White Fang prisoners; the few who survived their failed boarding operation.

However, there were murmurs of a few ships still missing. Ozpin couldn't be sure, he wasn't sure what was noise and what was actually being said; it was as if he was lost in a cacophonous world of madness and chaos, a world that world was screaming one word in his pounding head over and over again.

"Headmaster," Port said, finally rousing Ozpin back into reality, "are you well?"

"No, I am not a well," said Ozpin, straightening his back, trying to preserve a modicum of his posture.

Port scratched his mustache awkwardly. "That…was not what I asked headmaster."

Ozpin, by this point, realized that. "So it wasn't. Sorry, I was just lost in thought about installing a new well on campus. That would be a good idea. Yes, it would."

"I see," Port said, trying his best to sound convinced. "While that does sound like stupendous proposition we do have a few other bits of construction that we need your approval on, and considering that you have been staring at the damaged statues for the past ten minutes…"

From years of teaching, Port could tell when students drifted off, but with Ozpin's unbreakable poker face, weakened only by the sheer amount of sweat and erratic twitch in one of his eyes, Port honestly couldn't tell if the headmaster was just having a sick day or somewhere else entirely.

"Anyway," Port pulled out his scroll and handed to Ozpin, "we need you to sign here to begin repairs immediately." It took Ozpin ten seconds to finally respond to Port, lifting his finger up like he was aiming it, and brought it down towards the scroll shaking all the way. He missed the scroll entirely by the length of five inches. Ozpin narrowed his eyes as he measured the distance between his hand and the scroll, moving it diagonally over towards Port. He ended up colliding his index finger with Port's mustache. Stepping back, Port brought the scroll to Ozpin's hand. "You have it sir."

Ozpin pushed down and scribbled his name. "Indeed I do. Thank you, Peter."

Unease spread across Port's face as Ozpin used his name. Ozpin never used his name all these years, what was going on?

"Now the construction on the well can finally begin," Ozpin said nodding, pleased.

"Repairs for the statues, you mean?" Port asked.

Ozpin thought to himself and turned to look at the statues. It seemed like a particularly focused bolt of plasma had hit it from high above, blowing the tops off the Huntsman, Huntress, and Beowolf leaving their smoking legs standing. "Professor Port," Ozpin said, using Port's title to his great relief, "…I think the monument could use a well."

Port looked at the statue and back at Ozpin, who seemed to be deep in thought and drenched with sweat. "Are you sure sir?"

"Absolutely," Ozpin said, nodding directly at Port's mustache, the only thing that currently helped the suffering headmaster separate Port from everyone else. "I thank you for your service, Port."

Reaching out to pat Port on the shoulder, Ozpin left several deep wet stained hand prints on Port's burgundy suit. Port gave the stain a brief look and took a step back. "I…appreciate your thanks headmaster. I…will be going now."

"You may go now Port," Ozpin repeated, as several blurs of Port separated in front of him, each copy having three mustaches. Port blinked uncomfortably as Ozpin nodded to him and everyone around him.

"…. Be well headmaster," Port said as he beat a hasty retreat.

Ozpin watched Port fade into the masses of students and rescue workers rushing all about him and remembered that he left his office to do something. What was he trying to do? Why was it so hard to remember? Ozpin looked down at his buttoned suit and tried to remember.

…

As more and more wounded were lifted away, Team RWBY found itself placed in the middle of the operation, helping in whatever way they could.

"They had help." Blake said she assisted Yang in directing survivors towards help.

"Hmm. Who?"

"The White Fang." Blake bobbed her head towards a few unruly prisoners, separated from the main contingent of Atlas personnel and directed towards a different line in cuffs. "They couldn't have pulled this off. Not like they are now. Someone is working on the inside for them. Someone is supplying them with arms. Someone…they just declared complete war against two separate kingdoms."

Yang huffed. "Hey, Blake, don't let this eat you up alright. Whatever's happening…well, we'll deal with it when the time comes. For now, we focus on what's present."

Accepting Yang's words, Blake steeled herself. He remembered her mistake when dealing with Torchwick. She would not make that again. But despite what Blake wanted for herself there was a weariness in her, and signs from all around her, screaming at her, compelling her to do one thing: run.

Yang gave Blake a compassionate smirk and the weariness faded away. She couldn't keep running. If it came to it, and she had to face her past, at least she could face it with friends.

Then, in a moment like some many others in her life, the universe made its move against her. One of the Fang, by chance or fate, found himself staring right at Blake through hundreds of other heads. She met his eyes and pulled away immediately, heart pounding in her chest. He had seen her. He knew her.

"Traitor!" the Fang growled, voice to hoarse for anyone to know what he was saying. "Traito-aghhh" He collapsed to the ground as his cuffs sent high voltage through his body, causing to him convulse violently. Blake backed away, wanting to leave the area, until she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Blake…you alright?" Yang asked, noticing the shaking, shivering Fanus, who kept his hatred primed towards Blake even through all the pain. "It's okay. No one knows."

"He might—"

"No one is going to talk to them," Yang reassured. "They attacked Atlas ships. All that's going to happen is that they are going to be thrown into a cell where they belon—where the White Fang belongs."

Two guards dragged the downed Fang away. He fought them as best he could, crawling back towards Blake, fury in his eyes that couldn't be quenched. Another shock sent spasms through his body, but it wasn't until the third that he's eyes sudden went blank: he was unconscious.

"I'll be fine," Blake exhaled as she watched the guards pull him away. "I'll be fine."

Her words meant many things to Yang. Convincing was not one of them.

…

Suddenly, viciously, magnetically Ozpin felt himself being yanked away from the statue by a scent of something that was too good for their bitter, empty world. Bumping into several different figures on his way, Ozpin kept going, entranced and determined to meet his fragrance, destined to reach his satisfaction.

Moving further and further out towards the edge of the school, Ozpin wandered next to the line of White Fang prisoners, each eyeing him with equal parts confusion and contempt. Feeling the world around him dissolve beyond the path of the scent, Ozpin knew that he was getting closer.

Walking right through a few of the prisoners to the protests of the guards trying to keep the line going towards the armored transport hovering nearby, Ozpin continued undeterred, forward to meet the face of the majestic.

Finally, he was within reach; more than just smell, he could touch the smell of it, caress it, embrace it as it wrapped its fingers around him and brought him close, closer than anything ever has.

Oobleck meanwhile, stood ahead trying to help several direct the flow of people, unaware of ravenous glint in Ozpin's eyes as he stormed up behind him. Ozpin was almost upon him, arm reaching out for the thermos spewing the hot salubrious essence life and ecstasy that stood towering above all other sensations in the universe. He was just a second away, a reach, a call, a sip.

Oobleck swallowed an entire thermos worth of coffee down within a second and sighed in relaxation as Ozpin's palm collided with his shoulder. Turning to face the blank but slightly pale headmaster, Oobleck lifted his own hand and patted Ozpin's. "Ah. Headmaster. How are you doing on this most exciting day? The sheer amount of developments that have happened over the course of this day will surely grant this very date a place in the history books. In fact, I am looking forward to writing about this day for the entire history community considering my—why, headmaster, you look a bit pale."

Ozpin just looked right on through Oobleck, like he couldn't see him—how could he now that the only path was lost to darkness. Almost unconsciously, Ozpin patted Oobleck on his shoulder several times, and his face once or twice to Oobleck's clear displeasure before taking a step back. "Live well, Dr. Oobleck."

Oobleck didn't quite know to respond to that so he simply nodded slowly at Ozpin.

Walking towards the forest, Ozpin sought a quiet place to face oblivion, only to remember that a good amount of the trees had been flung far north of Vale, and a few still stay impaled through his office and on his coffee…his coffee…

Ozpin nearly collapsed as he pushed down on his cane with both hands, holding himself up. Rivers of cold sweat rained down the side of his cane like a waterfall, as Ozpin forced himself upright again, facing the harshness of the world without expression as he only could.

At least the gusts of cold air help relieve him of the severe heat that he felt cooking his flesh from the inside. The gusts of cold air seemed to be growing stronger. Ozpin vaguely heard the sounds of people shouting something. It sounded like they were saying, "Ironlood's Dragblip," or something of the such. It was utter nonsense.

Ozpin closed his eyes as to will away the headache that felt as his brain was pushing itself through his eyes with each passing second. By the time he opened his eyes again, he noticed a wave of noisy figures rush out the docking doors of a large ship—seemingly materialized out of nowhere—past him.

"If you're all done taking pictures," the pilot of the flagship grumbled supporting a technician with a twisted leg, "now would be a good time to help us."

As medics went out towards their duty, Ozpin just blankly watched, dully aware of what was going on around him. Hearing heavy boot steps come towards him, Ozpin struggled to look up.

"Oz I—" Ironwood suspended his apology gave Ozpin a concerned look. "Are you okay?"

Ozpin nodded and shook his head at the same time without any positive or negative emotion. Ironwood looked to Qrow who threw his hands up in confusion at what Ozpin was doing. "You know as much as I do that Oz is borderline unreadable," said Qrow wondering if he could maybe understand Ozpin better if he was more drunk.

"Well," Ironwood said, watching Ozpin's lackluster head bang-shaking continue, "I've never see him do this before."

Genos—still carrying Robin in his arm—and Penny walked straight past the potentially seizure headmaster, heading towards medical officials with upmost haste.

"What's going on with him?" Saitama asked as he received mixed signals from Ozpin.

"Tell you when I figure it out," Qrow said.

Ozpin's expression seemed exactly normal to how it always was, but his body told Saitama that either Ozpin could control every single muscle in his body and was now trying to twitch them all randomly to create a brand new dance, or that Saitama and the rest were witnessing the first ever possession in Remnant's history.

Walking over closer, Saitama studied Ozpin carefully as the headmaster continued to shake.

…

Placing Robin down on the floating gurney, Genos felt a searing unease as he parted from the girl; from her terrified expression and the way she clutched her necklace closer to her chest, she seemed to fare no better.

"Do not worry," Penny said, "I am certain that these doctors will take very good care of you."

Robin looked at both her medics and they waved at her without a word. "O—okay."

"Do you know her name?" asked one of her medics, a young man brown-haired man in an Atlas medics uniform.

"Robin," said Genos.

"Alright," the medic wrote her name down on his scroll before bumping her up to the high priority list. "Don't worry, I will make certain that she gets whatever she needs. I swear it."

"Thank you," Genos said. "I will repay this favor should you ever require it of me."

"No," the medic said, "it's the other way around. My mother is Chief-Medical Officer aboard the _Wayfarer_. They carried her off the ship bloody and hurt…but still alive. She said that if it wasn't for the chrome man, the Grimm would have...you know."

Not knowing what else to say the medic snapped to attention and saluted Genos before gripping the gunnery and hauling it towards a medical transport.

"I will come visit," Genos said. "To make sure you are doing well. If you want me to of course."

Robin nodded meekly, still scared, but now far more responsive than she was before. "Wait!" Robin cried out softly, causing the medics to stop. "C—can Penny come too?"

A look of surprise followed by jubilation spread across Penny's face. "Ab-so-lutely! That is what friends are for."

As she rolled up into the medical shuttle, Robin swallowed and waved a temporary goodbye, all the way until the doors shut. Genos frowned as the airship lifted off into the sky; he scanned the sky for any stray Grimm.

"She will be fine," Penny said with a reassuring smile.

"What?" Genos asked.

"You do not need to worry," Penny said. "She will be taken care of."

Accepting Penny's words, Genos dissolved his frown. "Thank you."

"For what?" Penny asked.

"For—"

"PENNY! GENOS!" Both turning at the same time, the android and the cyborg saw the red blur heading straight towards them like a missile on a mission: a mission of hugs. This mission, however, should have been thought through more thoroughly. A loud clang was heard as Ruby bounced off alloys far harder than skin and landed on the ground. "Ow. Hi."

"Ruby!" Penny exclaimed before reaching down and yanking Ruby back onto her feet in a large hug. Reaching her arm around his neck, Ruby pulled the unprepared Genos into the hug as well, draping his head over Penny's other shoulder as his arms dangled uselessly on the side; he was unsure what to do with them.

Back behind a line of people, Weiss covered her face with her palm at the travesty of a hug unfolding before her. "Yang," she said into her scroll, "get over here. Your sister's making a fool of herself again."

"So she's being herself?" Yang asked.

"More of herself than usual," Weiss responded.

"… We'll be right over."

…

From within the darkest pits of his soul, Ozpin could feel a light pierce through. Following it upwards, Ozpin could see the many wars of his past, the blood spilt for nothing, the Grimm hordes growing ever stronger. Through it all, Ozpin kept going, crawling back into his own skin and finding himself looking at a red glove waving across his face.

"All right that's it," Ironwood said, "I'm getting a medic."

"Wait," Saitama said. "I think he is responding."

 _Him_ , Ozpin's inner beast howled. Who else could have sent some many trees flying? Who else could have caused such untold destruction? Who else could have saved so many lives and ruined the one that gave him a position at Beacon? Who else could have killed the Expresso-Master? "You..." Ozpin whispered.

"He's saying something," Saitama said.

"What?" Qrow asked.

Before Saitama could continue, he felt a cold hand clamp down on his neck as Ozpin looked him straight in the eyes with a completely stolid, indifferent expression that seemed almost entirely normal. Every few seconds though, Saitama could swear that he saw glints of hate emanating through Ozpin's eyes.

Trying to drive his thumb through Saitama's jugular, Ozpin felt his world scream in torturous fury as all his might, all his technique failed to draw a even a meager drip of blood. Why did he have to be completely invincible? Feeling a certain lightheadedness, Ozpin gave murder one last chance as he pushed forward, only to have his body betray him as he collapsed chin-first onto Saitama's shoulder with both arms flung over like he was giving a hug.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Ironwood gasped. "Did Ozpin just…"

Beside him he received no answer as Qrow began shaking his flask over his face savagely, trying to get every drip out before this dream ended.

Meanwhile Saitama decided, though thorough unnerved by the sudden affection that Ozpin was sending his way, that he should return the hug because that would be the respectful thing to do. Wrapping his arms around Ozpin's back with extreme discomfiture, Saitama slowly patted Ozpin in the manner a man would a small dog.

Deep within Ozpin's soul, he wept. He wept even though his outside body couldn't due to years of unparalleled discipline made subconsciously second nature. Here he was, slowly decaying away from reality, bereft of coffee in his last moments, and his killer, his _unmaker_ , stood there, mocking him with an expression of pure adulation, clearly enjoying the suffering and pain he had wrought from Ozpin.

Closing his eyes, Ozpin let himself go as he felt himself being pulled backwards away from Saitama, into the void where he could find sanctuary in a spiritual death. Then he felt it; that delicious nourishment; the lifeblood of his existence; that which constitutes his being beyond flesh and blood. Ozpin opened his eyes the first thing he saw was Goodwitch's unamused glare. The second was the mug of hot goodness depositing his soul back into him.

As the last drop dripped down, the last two hours in Ozpin's mind went the way the liquid: into a bottomless void, never to be seen again. Straightening up, Ozpin swept the sweat off his face as his complexion returned to normal and finally noticed the chaos occurring all around him, along with the few standing before him. An extremely stiff stare-down ensued between Ozpin, Saitama, Ironwood, and Qrow.

"Does anyone remember the last two hours particularly well?" Ozpin asked, his tone like nothing had ever happened. "I seemed to have…been extremely forgetful during this period time."

"Oz," Ironwood approached him," are you sure you're okay? I could get a doctor—"

"I appreciate the gesture, but there is no need. Now what were we to discuss Professor Goodwitch?"

"You're needed back in the school, headmaster," said Goodwitch as politely as she can. "Whatever needs to be discussed today can wait. We all have tasks we must tend to. I am sure our sit-down can wait."

"A fair point," Ozpin said, turning without another word, Ozpin began to hobble back towards the school grounds. "Gentlemen, I shall see you all tomorrow in the morning to account for the events of today—are those trees impaled through my office?"

Ozpin tilted his head at the large wooden monstrosities sticking through his tower wall. "No matter. I bid you all a goodnight."

As Ozpin moved further and further away from them, Ironwood finally let out a breath of sheer disbelief. "What just happened?"

"Just forget about it James," Glynda sighed. "I'd rather not explain. As far as I'm concerned, the last two hours with the headmaster never happened."

Ironwood shook his head. "Very well. Excuse me, I must attend to the affairs of my fleet and…notify Atlas High Command."

"What will you tell them?" Goodwitch asked.

He sighed. "The truth."

Left alone with Saitama and Qrow, both looking extremely out of place on the hanger door of the flagship, Glynda made her final arrangements of the evening. "Come in at seven in the morning, we will conduct the meeting then. Qrow, do you still have access to your old residence? Take lecturer Saitama with you for the night. We will deal with what we can tomorrow."

"Are you sure you want to do that to him?" Qrow asked, a slight smirk in his eyes.

"Do what?" Saitama asked. "Do what?"

Glynda granted poor ignorant man a pitying shake of the head.

…

It was a few miles outside the city limits of Beacon that Saitama learned terror again.

A house surrounded by a few dilapidated barriers stood before them. Stumbling forward, Qrow motioned Saitama to follow him as he unlocked the door. Night had fallen so there was no way for Saitama to see what was inside the house. Cracks and leaks ran down the outside walls—a bland patchwork of partially painted grey and moss occupied most the exterior.

"Behold," Qrow said, grinning at Saitama sudden trepidation, "my magnificent abode. A sanctuary of..." Qrow yawned. "Safeness."

Behind Saitama leg, a large rat scampered by, sniffing the air. It turned at gave Qrow's room a single look and gagged, fighting the urge to vomit, before redoubling its pace towards the nearest trash mound where things were comparatively exquisite.

"How—" Saitama was barely able to form words, jaw jiggling as he felt the abyss gaze back into him.

It was a reasonably sized place, afforded by years of hunting contracts and hoarded pay, but where that would be a benefit in most apartments, for Qrow's it was definitely a detriment as it just gave him more room to spread his filth. From room to room as far as Saitama could see, across the floors, draped over the couches and tables, smeared on the walls, and stuck to the ceilings was stomach churning filth: it was a castle of rubbish. Beer bottles seemed to form blockades across entire sections of the living room, burying couches and other hidden furnishings beneath their sheer numbers. Dirty clothes, stained, bloodied, mudded, and torn littered the floor as a makeshift carpet as Qrow led them in, tracking more marks all over them. Looking up, Saitama gasped as dirty magazines dangled limply attached to some thick, sticky substance that seemed to coat the walls and drip viscous globs of liquid goop every now and then into a bucket long since overflowed. Descending down the stairs, trying not to trip on the spare bottles he has everywhere, the two held their breath in anticipation for what other horrors lie in wait for them. Pitch black darkness greeted them as Saitama copied Qrow's footsteps exactly, trying not to step in filth, trying not to fall down the stairs.

Stopping brief as they got to the bottom of the stairs, Qrow flipped a switch and with a few flickers, the entire room lit up.

The difference between his basement and his living room was between heaven and hell.

The conditions couldn't be called fabulous, as dirty clothes and a wet damp smell of something moldy was still present, but at least the path was not nearly as treacherous. Picture frames of forlorn days cluttered across the walls, buried beneath a layer of dust. The floor had a few stay articles of clothing but was quite acceptable in the way that the wooden boards were only slightly

In the corner of the room, several deep gashes marked the wood. Saitama briefly wondered why until Qrow planted his sword down into one of the makeshift openings; it was like an action of habit.

Yawning loudly and smacking his lips together, Qrow began his long trudge over to his bed, pulling off his dress shirt and tossing it on a chair. "There's a waterbed in the corner over there. And a couch over there. And a futon that might be in the closet—if it's still there. You're going to want to wash the futon though."

"Ok." Saitama noted. "By the way, where's your toilet?"

"Go back upstairs and take a left, it's the door with a small hill of magazines and a larger structure of bottles."

As Saitama began to turn, he noticed something poking out of Qrow's left pant pocket: a picture. With each step that Qrow took, the picture made its way out further, until it finally fell out into open air, fluttering down into Saitama's palm.

Saitama immediately found himself looking at a somewhat younger, happier Qrow standing amidst a group of other individuals. "Hey. You dropped this."

Qrow turned back and froze. A visible struggle ensued within Qrow's form as his lip twitched and his arm reached with the grace of a rusty gear to take back the photo. As he brushed his finger across the picture, Qrow rubbed his other hand over his nose and fell backward onto his bed—rump first and without grace. Scratching his chin before rubbing his head, Qrow grumbled as he reached for his flask, opened it, closed it, sighed, and then put it on his nightstand.

"The dark hair one next to me," Qrow said, "that one's my sister. Raven."

Saitama narrowed his eyes. "She looks a bit like the blonde girl in our class."

Qrow breathed in and took another shot. "Ruby's sister. Yang. That's because she's her mother."

"Oh. You don't need to tell me-"

"You're right, I don't need to tell you anything," Qrow said, a certain tense edge in his voice, "…but you didn't pry so…why the hell not." Qrow tossed the wooden chair beside him to Saitama. "Sit, if you want, and listen to uncle Qrow's history lesson. You see the blonde one here: Ruby and Yang's dad. Name's Tai Yang. Pugilist, all-round weirdo, and a damn good father when he isn't being miserable."

Saitama swept his eyes between Tai and Raven repeatedly, looking intently at both of them. "Who is Ruby's mother then?"

Eyes widening, Qrow gave Saitama a stunned stare. "How did you know?"

"It's a guess."

Impressed, Qrow wordlessly brought his finger up and laid it down on the face of the hooded girl with a sigh. "Summer Rose. Team Captain; baker of cookies; supermom. Nicest person I ever met. Bit shy when we first met but you probably wouldn't be able to tell that by how she fought. Raven didn't think much of her during our orientation. The second time we encountered her, she was waist deep in fading Grimm parts a whole field ahead of us. Kept us a team for all for years. Made us a family for far longer."

"Wait, so Tai was married to both of them."

"Yep," Qrow chuckled bitterly. "Can't deny that the prick had charm. Kind of charm you found in a really stupid puppy, but still…it's charm."

"So," Saitama cleared his voice awkwardly. "Did he and your sister…separate."

Storm clouds seemed to form in Qrow's eyes. "Raven...left. Summer…didn't make it back home."

Searching for the proper words, Saitama decided it was best to keep silent.

"You know it was all going well in the beginning. Raven and Tai, just married. Things were as close to perfect as they were ever going to be at first. For them I suppose. They didn't know that Summer had feelings for Tai too; I did, but she made me promise not to tell."

"She must have really strong then," said Saitama. "Takes a lot to deny yourself the expression of pain."

"She was. She was strong all the way through, right up till the end. Strong for Tai. Strong for Yang. Stronger still for Ruby. Hell, she had to be physically strong for me too a couple of times."

"Supporting you in battle?" Saitama asked.

"Ah. No. I used to be a heavy drinker."

An accusatory stare was directed at the flask on Qrow's nightstand. "Used to."

"Used to be an even heavier drinker. Drank the hard stuff like water." Qrow laughed. "If you asked my younger self, it was because I was the ultimate badass who wasn't afraid of anything, but honestly, it was because I knew Summer would be there to carry my sorry hide home."

"What about your sister?"

Qrow mused on that point. "I said I used to be a heavy drinker. Well, believe or not, I was the controlled drunk in my family-"

"Alcoholism shouldn't be hereditary—"

"-dad liked to use the belt a lot after a couple. I just kinda eventually drifted off into sweet oblivion after a couple of brawls. But Raven…drinking just made her blood boil."

"Summer had to carry both of you back didn't she."

"She carried me. She had to pull Raven off other people."

The thought of an unconscious Qrow and a belligerent, violent lady-Qrow with long dark hair entered Saitama's mind. It wasn't very hard to imagine. "Sounds like you all got along really well."

Qrow whistled. "Like you wouldn't ever believe. Team STRQ: coolest team to ever graduate Beacon. Of course, that couldn't last forever. Raven-because of who else-was the first sign of the problems to come when she bolted without a word one day with Yang still in the cradle."

Qrow shook his head. "Raven, for all her callousness and faults, loved Tai Yang more than anyone else in the world. Hell, despite how vicious she could be, she was still good sister and a better teammate…but she just wasn't…she just wasn't meant to be a mother. Raven wasn't alive unless she felt death breathing down the back of her neck and the wind in her hair. She craved motion and battle, lived hard and fought harder."

"So then she never—"

"She was gone not three months after Yang was born. Gone without a word. Took her weapons, took her bike, and rode off into the sunset she always wanted to chase. Meanwhile, back at home, Yang spent most of her childhood trying to figure out what was so wrong about her that it made mommy leave."

Words dissolved on the tip of Qrow's tongue as he opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, trying to put what he wanted to say into words. Annoyed by his own silence, Qrow growled snatched his flask. Lifting drink above his head, he emptied the rest of the contents down his throat.

No inspiration came with the buzz. "Didn't come back. Didn't even bother a visit. For her own daughter."

"That's pretty harsh."

Qrow laughed. "It's probably for the best. Here, have some."

Cautiously accepting the drink, Saitama blinked. "Good?"

"I don't want Yang to meet her mother," Qrow said darkly, eyes filling up with memories long past. "If the firecracker thinks that being abandoned hurts, she should try spending some time with Raven: that'll be one fight I never want to witness."

"How do you know that there will be a fight?" Saitama asked. "Couldn't you help stop it?"

"You don't stop Raven. And despite how much more alike she is to her father, you don't control Yang either. Put those two together and it's like pouring oil into an inferno. Those two will be at each other within minutes. And the twisted thing is Raven would probably confuse the fighting as a bonding experience. Yang…Yang will be broken by the sheer simplicity regarding why her mother just didn't bother sticking around."

Tasting a sip of Qrow's liquor, Saitama felt something like a gust of frozen fire wash down through him. "Hmm."

"Pretty good hmm," Qrow smirked. "Stick with me baldy. I'll keep showing you the good stuff."

Saitama handed the flask to Qrow. "So I guess Tai didn't take her leaving very well."

"No." Qrow shook his head. "Cruelest thing is that Raven knows that. Blondie loved her, and she loved him. Just not enough. Anyway, here's were Ruby's story starts: a heartbroken hunter with a baby that is the splitting image of the woman that left him. Meanwhile, his idiot teammate," Qrow pointed to himself, "decided to spend all his time running around getting hunting contracts alone so he didn't know what was happening at all, leaving only Summer to placate the hurt."

Qrow took a drink giving the entranced Saitama a smirk. "Shouldn't be hard to figure out what happened next. Hurt feelings. Repressed feelings. Need for love. Two people with history. Fast forward a year or two and Ruby was among us. This is the point where fairytales should stop. This being life…it didn't."

"If you don't want to keep talking we could stop—"

"Don't interrupt."

"You shouldn't tell me anymore. You're not clear of mind right now and you might regret it in the morning."

Qrow waved him off. "Won't. Always sober enough to make my own choices. Regardless, Summer left on day on a mission that she just couldn't talk about, to a place she probably couldn't mention either, and met her end there. Tai…stopped doing anything for a while after Summer... he managed to pull himself together later for the sake of the girls, but it took a real long while. Why wouldn't it. He loved her, just like how he loved Raven—probably more. Circumstances were different but…well, the results were the same. She was gone. He was alone. This time, he came apart completely. He just…stopped being alive for a while."

"Grief," Saitama said, mostly to himself. He couldn't remember the last time he actually felt any grief. Then again, Saitama couldn't remember the last time he lost anything worthy of grieving. He wondered if he would ever feel grief again.

"Anyway," Qrow continued on, "before I knew it, I turned into dad number two. Bringing in money to keep them fed while Tai was lost in his head. Had to keep an eye on the firecracker and the baby. There was this one time that they just disappeared one day. Left the house. Gone. I think that was the first time I ever gave Tai the ol' what-for out of anger. Dammit, just thinking about it gets me pissed at him. Anyway, after a few hours of frantic tracking, I find Yang pulling a sleeping Ruby in a trolley neck deep in Grimm infested woods looking a couple of Beowolves in the mouth."

Qrow stopped. "Think that was the first time I ever raised my voice at Yang too. She probably deserved it but…she was just a kid, and fixing dad was all that was on her mind. Probably thought Tai would get better if they brought a mom home again. Maybe make him smile again."

Saitama continued to listen in silence as Qrow grunted and flooded more liquid motivation down his throat. "We managed to make it work. We managed to make it to today. Guess we could've done worse."

"Well you must have done well raising your nieces. It's pretty obvious that they adore you. Kids only adore people they like."

"Baldy," Qrow said, "I don't know if you're really daft but really attentive about certain things, or actually pretty clever and the daft part is just a facade."

Saitama thought for a second. "Sure."

"Heh. Adding to the confusion. Alright, your turn," Qrow said.

"What?"

"I pretty much gave you half my life's story here. Gotta get something back in return. Not a charity you know."

Saitama hummed to himself and rubbed his head. "What do you want to hear about then?"

"Don't care. So long as it's interesting."

Musing to himself momentarily, Saitama wondered where to start. "Did I ever tell you I was a salaryman before I was a hero?"

"Salaryman?" Qrow said. "Like an office worker."

"Yeah. So the day I decided that I was going to become a hero for hobby, I just left another failed interview."

A snicker rose out of Qrow. "What were you interviewing for?"

"Ummm…oh, it was an accounting position for a…company that made cough drops."

Qrow's eyebrow rose. "Cough drops. Was this the same company that did your prophet in."

Saitama suddenly looked quite stunned. "…I think so."

Laughing softly, Qrow shook his head. "Neat. What happened next."

"So I was wandering around, wondering about the point to life when I saw a lobster guy who had nipples drawn on his shell—"

"Completely normal," Qrow said facetiously. "Why wouldn't he have nipples on his shell."

"Because a kid with a giant lower half-moon of a jaw drew it on him while he was sleeping."

Qrow snorted with amusement. "That was a rhetorical question but I'm very glad that you answered it truthfully."

"Anyway, the crab guy was trying to kill the kid and I couldn't let him do that so I tried fighting him."

"Let me guess," Qrow said. "One punch?"

"No. It was a hard fight. I nearly lost, and only won once I pulled his eye out with my tie. It's only after that day that my interest in being a hero was rekindled and I began training."

"Right," Qrow said. "Your training. You know, if you were anyone else, I would think that you were screwing with me."

Saitama frowned. "Qrow…why do you think so little about everyone?"

"Less to expect that way. Also leaves more time for drinking."

"That wasn't an actual answer," Saitama accused. "Just a sarcastic defense."

"Yeah," Qrow said, evidently getting wearier in more ways than one, "well, we don't all come from a world where the world is saved on a regular basis. We have don't exactly have an abundance of superheroes here."

Saitama expression told Qrow that he disagreed. "You're a hero. Other Hunters are heroes."

"No I'm not," Qrow said, chuckling darkly under his breath. "Didn't you hear me telling Ironwood to leave the villagers to die. Not a thing heroic about me. Well, maybe my looks." Qrow smirked and waggled his brows lazily.

Saitama sighed. "Being a hero and being a saint are different. Bad things lead to really hard choices sometimes. You have to do the best thing for the most people with what you have. You try to do good. You don't give up. That's all it takes to be a hero."

Qrow gave Saitama a questioning glare and shook his head. "Well, then I guess there are a lot of heroes fertilizing the soil of the four kingdoms."

"…you're really depressing. You should try being less pessimistic, it would probably do you some good. I heard somewhere that being miserable and angry will increase your stress and cause your hair to fall out when you're still…"

Qrow's bemusement was clearly visible at he looked at his own reflection on Saitama's dome. "Keep going."

Reigning in his rising annoyance, Saitama exhaled. "Anyway. Being cynical doesn't help."

"Being optimistic doesn't help either."

"Maybe not, but it's certainly less annoying. And besides, you're not actually cynical."

"I'm not?" Qrow asked, eyebrow raised. "Really?"

"No. If you were, you wouldn't care about anything by this point. Probably would have distanced yourself entirely from everyone. If you were actually cynical, why would you have stayed and looked after your nieces, your brother-in-law, or even argue with Ironwood all the time? I don't think you don't care. I think you care too much."

Qrow cringed with every word of Saitama's sententious sermon. "Alright! Alright! Alright, stop it. Damn. You sound like a bad movie."

"It's the truth. What's the point of being cynical if it doesn't help with anything?"

"Because when life gives me lemons, I complain until I feel like I get a discount."

Saitama hunched over. "You just really like whining about things, don't you?"

A toast was granted to Saitama for that. Qrow's eyes blinked and flickered weakly with each passing gulp. Stretching out his back and yawning, Qrow smacked his lips together. "Listen. It's been great talking about my past, and I'm sure you'll keep amusing me so long as you keep talking, but I think I'm going black out in a bit."

"Ok. I'll just take the couch then."

Saitama stood up and trudged towards the couch, yawning himself. "Hey, Qrow?" Saitama asked, yawning.

"Hmm?"

"Why did you decide to tell me about the picture?"

Qrow looked hard and deep at a certain part of the ceiling as if it was going to grant him the answer to Saitama's question. "Don't know."

"Oh," Saitama said. "Okay. Well good—"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Saitama heard Qrow's flask clatter to the ground as snores drifted out Qrow's opening mouth rhythmically, like a clogged trumpet. A thick pool of drool rose past the corner of Qrow's lips, and leaked downwards. Somehow, the look fit Qrow delightfully. Listening to the regularly paced snores rumbling softly from him, Saitama shrugged wandered back over, pulling the blanket over Qrow. Yawning again, Saitama stood up and made his way to the bathroom, turning the lights to the basement off on his way.

Not three seconds later he promptly tripped over a crumpled can and face-first onto a mountain of bottles. Head raising off broken glass, Saitama decided that something had to be done.

...

 ** _Dullard's notice: From here, we move into setting up the main game for this little brewing conflict. Relationships come together and feel the strain of existence and the tension of fate. Beasts and men clash in light and dark, a unending fate for Hunters and Huntresses who now face even more insidious dangers awoken by the arrival of mighty heroe-hey, someone left the summary for this high fantasy novel half written! I want my money back!_**

 ** _Anyway, the path onwards is going to be one of many stories. There is trouble arising with the Grimm-trust me, the Grimm are working out-and Cinder's insidious plans. Meanwhile, Salem is off somewhere doing god knows what while another death metal band gets their album poster in the background. Meanwhile with our heroes, bonds are slowly being formed that will need to stand to the test of a whole of trouble coming at them like a wolverine that does a lot of cocaine. And let's not forget the Hero Association trying to breach into the world as well. Needless to say, the conflict with find itself...Escalating with each passing word. Okay, maybe not each passing word, but dammit things are going to happen soon, and bad needs to get more asses to even hope to survive the storm that's about to fall._**


	15. Escalation II: Developments

_Author's Note: I own nothing pertaining to both these series that are having another season._

Escalation II:

Opening Windows

Its crude oblong curves were bent unnaturally outward, metal still rent and scalded from the battle prior, and its sheer size forcing the association to construct it near the country side. With no time to repair or remold the alloys, Metal Knight made due with what little bit of Mars Beast steel they could find on hand to replicate the transporter that the aliens used to attack City-F. It took another few hours of tinker to adjust it towards the last designated location of transportation.

Deep in the belly of the Hero Association-a cathedral of repurposed alien alloys planted atop the ruined corpse of City A—a Bearded Worker stares with unmatched intensity at the task force assembled before him.

A small group of volunteer heroes stood together assembled, their features varying drastically from one another like a spectrum of colors. There were three of them in total, varying in ability and power. Three were all that were willing to come. Ten was the limit that he was allowed to spare for this mission. King, Metal Bat, and a particularly reclusive C-class hero known as Horse-Bone, whom no one was certain as to why they accepted this assignment.

"Should you enter the breach, know that this mission comes with the risk of stranding you all as well," the Bearded Operator of the Association said from behind the protective glass. "If anyone of you wants to turn back now would be the time. Your rank in the association will remain untouched and you will be allowed to continue on with your everyday lif-"

The door behind them sudden burst open, light flooding into the room accompanied by the huffing exhaustion of a figure hidden in light. Striding forward with his bike slung over his right shoulder, Mumen Rider muttered a very garbled apology for being late before entering the room to join the rest of the six.

"So—sorry. The traffic was really bad today so I had to switch routes." He swallowed trying to catch his breath. "But…Mumen Rider is here now."

His fist was held up, defiant to the world like his spirit. It was just a shame that no one else in the room gave a damn enough to even turn around to look at him.

"Ah," Bearded Worker said, "That's good. Can you please take you position, we don't have any more time to waste."

Giving the large slapdash portal an unimpressed stare —its curves bending upwards as its rings spun, alloys unknown to them—Metal Bat shifted his namesake from one shoulder to the other. "So is this giant metal junk ring going to start working anytime soon. I need to be back before Thursday. Told my sister I was going to watch her rehearse for her big piano recital."

Considering who managed to scrap it together, Bearded Worker figured they were in good hands. "Metal Knight completed the construction for this device so all that you will have to do is be prepared. Don't touch anything and everything should go well."

A flicker of energy formed like growing pimple in the center of the ring. Purple power flowed from the ring towards the center, undulating through the air and swirling around the tiny prick of power, now growing steadily.

Several of the heroes swallowed audibly as they gazed into the dark purple abyss through which they were being deployed. Mumen Rider checked his wheels one more time and got on his bike. Metal Bat tightened his grip around his bat and continued chewing his gum. King's eyes seemed to loom outwards endlessly, the pounding his own heart in his ears, the shadows converging his expression as incomprehensible as the portal they were gazing into. Horse-Bone was remained an enigma.

"When you arrive on the other side, set down the beacon so that we can track you. Someone will always be monitoring the status of the beacon so set it off anytime you need to and we will open a portal back up for you. Find Demon Cyborg and Caped Baldy. They are counting on you."

Inflated gum popped on Metal Bat's lips. Chewing a few more times, he pulled the stick substance out of his mouth and thoughtlessly flicked it into the portal. It was as if the gum was falling through a door way that had no concept of space or ending it just kept going further, until it could no longer be seen. A scowl grew across his face. "This better not leave us stranded or anything, alright. Otherwise this bat will be coming back to greet you."

Nodding to Metal Bat, the Bearded Operator of the Heroes Association let out an anxious huff and signaled the technician to proceed. The window of purple expanded outwards, subsuming the area around it into something that began to distort space. All around it, matter and time began to extend with some heroes suddenly gaining disproportionately longer arms and heads, bodies bending forwards while their legs clipped behind, before suddenly catching up. It grew until it met the approach of the heroes, each tumbling into it like it was well without bottom, their bodies stretching across the void, deeper and further like there was no concept to length; several times, several heroes fused and separated before going deeper. Rings spinning, the portal turned form a window to an orb that began to collapse inwards on itself.

It was on the precipice of completion when the very tip of Metal Bat's bat clipped one of the rings as it was at the apex of its spin, causing it to jam briefly and pop off with a crack, destabilizing the entire portal. The small circular window oscillated at its ends, indescribable, incomprehensible to those watching. The physical forms of the heroes shivered with the distorted physical world and quite spontaneous in the next moment, blinked out of existence, along with most of the portal leaving only half a hinge and a single ring in their wake.

All throughout this disastrous process, the Bearded Worker was gracing the back of the Technician's head with a deluge of hot coffee. Besides wincing once or twice, her attention was more focused on the disappeared heroes.

"Beacon is still operational," said the Technician. "Heroes should still be alrigh—they seem to be far off course.."

Looking at the metal ring, creaking as it swung to a worrying halt, Bearded Operator clenched his jaw. They just sent four heroes for two—two S-class, two Cs. Should this mission fail, the consequences would be dire. Bearded Worker sighed. "The brass is not going to like this."

…

Serenity was a distant memory above the evening sky at Beacon as dozens of warships encircled the school, patrolling the skies. Pillars of blinding spotlights shone across the ruined landscape—Forever Fall fixed of its sundering, now left plucked. For the few students seeking to get some sleep at this time, their binds proved to be woefully inadequate.

For Ironwood, sleep would be a distant luxury on this evening. In his cabin aboard his Flagship he sat, two other figures flicking in an out sporadically on his scroll's screen. There was a third and final window open on Ironwood's scroll that remained dark, the name Gaston the only words beneath it. They paid no heed to his absence; it was a common occurrence by this point. Besides, they had a pressing matter that demanded a response.

"Just how did this-this-what this hell is this thing!" Supreme Commander Maleficent was in a glorious mood like Saitama wasn't bald. "He looks one out mech factories spat out a member of a boyband! Where did he come from!" The screeching from her voice seemed to outmatch the wails of welders taking flame to steel outside.

Gettapo sighed and sent Ironwood an apologetic look. "Another world, Maleficent. Another world according to James."

"Another world? Do you know how absurd that sounds? Clearly our good General here is having a bit of amusing at our expense—"

"Neither of them possess any aura in their bodies."

The disdain in Maleficent's tone drained right out, replaced by a genuine note of intrigue. "Truly? A continued jest, Ironwood?"

"One is almost entire mechanical and runs on a power that he refers to as 'core'. So far, we have no idea this core is. The other one…you've seen the report. No hunter in existence possesses that much power—not even the Maidens themselves—and dust becomes all but useless when it leaves Remnant's orbit. We are dealing with something different here."

Maleficent brought up images of both Saitama and Genos on her own scroll. An unreadable expression bloomed on her face; it was the dangerous kind of inscrutable, Ironwood knew that well enough from working with her for so long—it expression one would have if genuinely conflicted what torture methods to deploy and whatnot. Knowing Maleficent, it might not be beyond her.

"So, a cyborg-boy and a bald-headed human missile. These two are the ones they proclaim to be the Defenders of Vale. These are the ones that the public are turning to over us?"

"It's hardly unreasonable. The potential enormity of our actions should the Interpreterhad actually made impact with the city would have been irredeemable. That would be cause for war should Vale seek it. They let us into their homes on our pledge to make certain the safety of the Festival and we run a ship into their main city. Such a transgression, even if it hasn't succeeded would cost us substantial credit in the eyes of the public" Gepetto pulled of his glasses and wiped them with cloth, straightening out his uniform in the process. "The most logical option right now would be to pull back and try to regain Vale's trust through a visible effort that we are trying to deal with the White Fang problem. If they have a true alternative target, then the brunt of the animosity can be removed from us."

"But not entirely," Ironwood said. "It's been clear, even just hours after the incident, that Atlas personnel are outliving our welcome. Mechs have been vandalized. Crew on shore leave harassed and driven out in certain cases. The tension is building. The White Fang might have gotten what they want."

"Not entirely," Maleficent said. While the other two were speaking, she found it prudent to watch the video of Genos disintegrating the _Interpreter_. A most staggering feat she was sure, but more than the implications of his power were the implications of his renown now. She saw it in the eyes of those he saved; reverence and hope. Networks, organizations, even kingdoms have been built atop similar foundations—though perennial in the long run due to its fleeting nature. Yet, she didn't require Genos to build anything, all she needed was for what they see in him to be what they saw in Atlas. With that, her mind came to its most direct conclusion. "The attack on Vale failed, and from that mess, our reputation burned up with the Interpreter. However, we have gained a potential asset of sorts. Genos. That is his name, correct."

Ironwood and Gepetto shared an uncomfortable glance. "Yes," Ironwood said. "What are you plotting Maleficent?"

"How receptive is this Genos to getting an actual job or position with us. A sponsorship perhaps? My Mirrors could try to suss out what—"

"No." Ironwood's voice dropped dangerously low. "If you didn't notice, he saved hundreds of Atlas lives as well. The last thing I want is for your Mirrors to greet him in their typical manner."

Maleficent rolled her eyes. "Hardly all my Mirrors are murderous torturous monsters. That's a specific subset of the primary group, hardly a proper representation of the whole. I'll instruct them to be clandestine—"

"Maleficent. No. He'll just see them coming."

Gepetto tried not to sigh again as they glared at each other, trying match wills. "Fine, fine. But this issue still must be fixed," said Maleficent, not seeing the point in continue this little struggle. "I suppose you'll want to take charge of the situation? Have any better options."

"I have a proposition," Ironwood began, "but Doctor Gettapo will not like it."

As usual, the Doctor's adroit mind leapt to the clear conclusion before anyone else even fired off their first neurons. "You want to use Penny to convert him then, James? I assume they've already met if he has been through the city. Such an…overt presence is certain to catch her attention."

"Yes, Doctor. I understand that this might be—"

"I'll allow it," Gettapo said. It was his tired sigh of acceptance to told Ironwood he was truly serious. "It would do her good too, to test out her capabilities as an field asset. And also probably quell some of her more excitable tendencies for some time. Have you thought about how you are going to phrase the matter to her? She will be less willing to proceed if she sense—disingenuous intent—she has far too large of a heart for that."

"Heart." Maleficent said, slightly pestered by the melodrama unfolding before her. "Please, she's a machine. Order her to do so and she will do it. That is if she was built right."

Gettapo didn't give Maleficent the pleasure of even the merest frown. "I built her to be the closest thing to a real girl. I put her together, connecting wires like sinews and power nodes like organs. She has a heart. You can trust me on this because I put it there."

"All make sure to that she is willing before I proceed." Ironwood said before a giving Gepetto a small smirk. "You make a very respectable android Doctor. Like real people. Penny is not very good at lying with all the anxiety she has."

"Ah," Gettapo replied. "Is that so? Perhaps I will base our next few models off our dear Supreme Commander here. Those models will be capable of lying with the best of them.

"Can't be considered a real person anymore though," Gettapo sighed in mock pity. "A shame. One or the other really."

Maleficent scoffed. "Well if that's the way this conversation is heading, and all other business has been concluded, I bid you good evening gentlemen, Gentlemen." With a flicker, she disappeared. A moment later though she reappeared. "What about the bald one." Her question came bluntly, like she just forgot some groceries. "Saitama? The one that made orbit and drove the head of our space program into despair."

"I'll be working him directly I…" Ironwood huffed. The next few words sounded like a laxative might have helped. "I am going to be teaching a class with him. He's…odd, destructive. Completely unstoppable; there seems to be no limit to his physical power bu—"

"I'm sorry General, did you say teaching a class with him? A class? At Beacon? Does he even know how classes here work? Do you even remember how to teach." Her words were sharp, mocking; Ironwood expected them to be. It was true that he hasn't directly taught a class for sometime—military duties and the general administration of the school taking precedent—but he was sure that he still had the basic principles down. "Surprised that Ozpin even allowed for this farce of class to exist, who else is a part of this—oh. Oh." Stormclouds formed in Maleficent's eyes as her fingers traced the tip of a scar going down her neck line. Something curved split her open once, and from the angle, it was meant to scar, but not kill. "He's with you too."

Her finger pressed a far down far to harshly on her scroll, cracking it slightly as she dispelled Qrow's face.

"I don't like him anymore than you do."

"Don't make claims you know are fallacious General. Blatant lies are always the worst." Maleficent had to actively tell herself to withdraw her hand from the broken screen. "The time is late, I must compose a plan for now, public relations structured around our soon-to-be representative at Beacon; strategies; more reinforcements—Strategist Zhu has directed Specialist Winter back towards Beacon in light of this event. Cryptic bastard told me that 'Specialist Winter will do as she does fan the flames, and the rats will flee as the conflagration starts'. Miserable old codger probably thought I entirely missed the irony. I bid you an evening General, Doctor. Not a good one by any means." Without another word, her screen went dim.

Gepetto chuckled to himself under his breath, long used to the sheer suddenness of Maleficent's departures "You would think after so many years of being a spymaster, she would develop some better mannerisms to manipulate us with."

"Might be why she's the spymaster instead of a spy herself," Ironwood said, "couldn't quite hide the disgust she had for everyone else."

Shaking his head, Gepetto looked down at his watch. "The hour is late, James. You should get some rest—even though I know you won't. This matter wasn't your fault; how could we have seen such an unlikely occurrence coming our way."

Ironwood's expression darkened. "That's not how the public is going to see it. Atlas was supposed to be the aegis against danger. Now we become part of the danger."

"An understandable fear on their part." Gepetto breathed out and yawned. "Your idea on Genos isn't a bad one, but…do keep an eye on Penny. She's…you understand what this old man is trying to say."

He wasn't wrong. "She's in good hands Doctor. I'll make sure she doesn't get involved in anything she should be in."

"James," Gepetto sighed, "you know merely meeting anomalies like this 'Genos' embroils you into something that you simply cannot foresee. What I'm asking of you is to make sure she stays safe when everything eventually comes to ahead. A storm lies dead ahead General. You probably felt it long before I did."

Ironwood simply nodded. "We'll be ready. All of us. Good night, Doctor."

"Good night James."

With that, Ironwood's scroll went dim. Massaging his temples then stretching his shoulders, Ironwood stood up and headed towards the door. Now the actual work begins. Still, silent, blank, the room and scroll waited in a tranquil lull as the door closed.

The tranquility didn't last.

"And no one is late like Gaston!" Gaston roared, his scarred lips clattering against each other. The so-called Vanguard of Atlas found himself late to another meeting. "But I'm here now! What are we talking about…oh, gone already then. Again. Guess I'm not needed tonight. 'No need for you to show up today, Gaston, your unparalleled magnificence is not needed on such a dull and dreary topic, whatever it might be.' Ah well, suppose this leaves more time for myself then." Gaston turned and raised the glass, the noise in the background making it increasingly clear that he was in a bar. "Who wants to make a toast to Gaston!"

The cheers were deafening. The only thing louder was the laughter of Gaston himself.

…

Gasping and wheezing, Qrow tumbled out of his bed as the pungent, stabbing smell of bleach and freshener flowed into his nose. Standing up and nearly tripping over the blanket between his legs, Qrow wrenched his blade out of the floorboards, gashing away another chunk of wood. Stomping up the stairs, he grumbled as his grogginess faded, light of day stabbing him in the eyes.

On the final step, Qrow widened his gait, stepping over the pile of bottles he had left there. His foot met no resistance: someone had removed the bottle. Qrow quickly followed up by making the mistake of bring his foot down too hard, as the sensation of slippery smoothness made him realize his floor must have been extensively mopped while his tumbled over. Pushing himself into a forward flip, with the intent to rebound off the wall and land on his feet again. His outstretched foot met the wall.

He promptly slid off the wall as well, bouncing his head against the wall and breaking a part of his cabinet off his neck.

For several beats of silence, Qrow glanced at part of his broken cabinet and then back up at the ceiling, now glaring at him with its utter cleanly whiteness."...Saitama," muttered Qrow, rubbing the back of his neck as he slowly stood up. "Saitama." His voice traveled back down into the basement, summoning forth the committer of this travesty.

Hearing foots steps going up the stairs, Qrow glared down, waiting for the most probable perpetrator to emerge. Yawning deeply, still barely stirred from the stupor of sleep, Saitama wobbled up the stairs to meet a very displeased Qrow.

"What's with all the banging," Saitama complained. "Is it time to go already?"

With a slow menacing motion, Qrow picked up a cracked piece of wood that was once part of his cabinet and held it out for Saitama to see. Looking behind Qrow, Saitama noticed the broken wood and the cracked wall as well.

"Oh. You wall looks a bit damaged."

"I know that." Qrow said, face impassive, tone anything but. "Did you clean my house?" Qrow's voice holding a softness known well to serial killers and individuals who found immense pleasure in binding and torturing small woodland animals.

"Only part of it. Last night I fell on your beer bottles after tripping on a can. At first I only cleaned the broken glass but then I thought if I woke up again later I might trip again, so I kept cleaning. It took me around a minute but I think I got the walls too."

Lifting his index finger as if he was going to smite the bald fool, Qrow grunted out a series of noises that never quite graduated from intelligible noise academy. "Who the hell mops the walls of a room?"

"Your walls really needed it. After tripping I tried pulling myself up and part of the wall got pulled off by my hand because some sticky black stuff got stuck on me."

True to his word, there was a very visible part of the wall on the far side of the room that had a torn hand print left on it. Qrow massaged his temples and shook his head. He hadn't had a roommate since he graduated from Beacon. He missed not having a roommate. "Is there anything else that would be helpful for me to know right now?"

Saitama gave the bathroom door a guilty glance. "I tried to unclog your toilet."

Qrow's felt his heart drop. "Elaborate on 'tried'."

Almost tip-toeing over the bathroom door, Saitama steeled himself and pushed it open. It was worse than Qrow feared. Trying to keep the horror of what he was witnessing from spreading across his face, Qrow looked up at the newly decorated ceiling within the bathroom, then down at where the toilet was supposed to be. He did this several times before despairingly motioning for Saitama to close the door.

"I sneezed while I was doing it…" said Saitama, attempting to justify his actions.

Qrow felt the strong urge to leave his place and burn it down behind him; a fresh start might just be the thing that saves his soul. Sighing, Qrow settled for leaving. "Close the door. Just close it."

Complying, Saitama shut the bathroom door with a squelching sounding as it came to a close. Qrow began to hustle; that sound was going to take his enjoyment of a large, cold morning beverage away from him. At this pace, he might have to forego his morning beer in exchange for his mid-morning liquor-his levels of inebriation were going to get all messed up!

Qrow let out a weary morning sigh, as all the restfulness of last night's sleep abandoned him, leaving him with only fatigue and a man bald enough to be used as a mirror. "…I know a good noodle place on the edge of town. Let's go to eat some noodles. So that you can stop destroying my stuff or worse."

"You shouldn't consider cleaning your house worse. It's really bad. I'm not that clean myself but if Genos saw your living conditions he would have been up all night trying sterilize the—"

Walking right past Saitama without listening, Qrow bounded down the steps of his stairs. A series of unintelligible grumbles went back up the stairs, followed by a fully dressed Qrow. "Alright, let's just get out of here before you—hmmm." Qrow's eyes narrowed at Saitama's uniform. "Well, that won't do."

"What won't do?" Saitama asked confused as to what Qrow was referring to. "My uniform."

"It suits your personality," Qrow said nodding, "but we'll be needing something a bit more acceptable right now."

Saitama glared at Qrow silently. "Is that an insult about my personality or my uniform?"

"Yes. Anyway, the way you dress might weird some of the locals out. We need to get you into something unassuming." Reaching out into a random clothes pile, Qrow began to dig and yank.

Something told Saitama that this was a certain flavor of revenge.

…

 _Menagerie..._

Rimeditch had been a miserable little farming town before the war. After the chemical warfare that took place over the soil, it couldn't even be that. Yet, it seemed that the roots of the locals endured where the roots of their plant could not, somehow still drawn to their longtime home that mistreated them yet nurtured them for all those years. The land had bonded with them.

That was what a particularly idealistic news article would say about Rimeditch. The truth is that leaving costs money, and if you lived in Rimeditch, you would know that the town was so poor that the shoes in town don't even come in pairs anymore.

Part of the reason the town was so continuously poor was due to bad extortion management. Understand that most of gravel cross—the region of Menagerie that housed poorest inhabitants of Remnant: quite a statement—has never experienced an education beyond what their parents could offer. This resulted in untrained laborers and many more untrained thugs, who really couldn't rub two neurons together and realize that if a town's treasury was empty, burning the town down really didn't spontaneously make gold appear in the vault. It was telling that the smartest among the criminals focused on extortion and monthly fees. At least they managed to obtain some goods than several large bonfires and hundreds of furious civilians.

Rimeditch was one of these towns, paying fees, barely surviving from month to month. But every now and then the gangs and mob want something a bit more than just money. Sometimes, they sought entertainment. Entertainment was always a consensual process.

"One," rumbled Boulder's, his horn with several rings welded through it, a jacket of spikes and a large metal bat over his shoulder. "Two." He traced his bat across the adolescent girl's tears, sobbing as she retreated further in the embrace of her sisters, who had practice hiding their distraught. "Three."

A loud crack echoed through the center of town, right beneath the old clocktower that recently had all its brass gears looted and sold for scraps again. As the old Bartender coughed with hoarse gasps, barely conscious enough to hear his daughters' cries, he mustered up what little force he had to turn and glare at Boulder with his swollen eyes. Behind Boulder, a bar burned, made to burn by its own alcohol.

The behemoth of a Rhino-Faunus knelt down slowly, planting his bloodied bat right next to the man's head. "If you said yes, the pain would be over soon. You're hurting your daughters more at this point. You've already hurt your old lady," Boulder sent his right-hand a smirk, the hyena holding an unconscious woman in his arms, her jaw jutting out at an unnatural angle for normal jaws and entirely fitting for most fractured ones.

"I just want to get to know one of your wee-ones. They got to leave the den somehow right? Not like there any academic options around here." His large paws wrapped entirely around the man's throat, lifting him off the ground as if he was a small child. "Let's face it. I probably the best option your kids have at a better life. Ease the burden a bit on yourself old-timer. You deserve it."

Most the town was gathered to watch Boulder pounding the life out of another member of theirs, this time the old bartender for defending his daughters. Most of them seemed to stare right on through most the beating—maybe if they lied to themselves about how they were used to it, they wouldn't feel so much.

Grunting and hacking, the bartender moved his lips but only gasps came out. Boulder drew in closer to hear the capitulation he so desired. What his got was a glob of blood, mucus, and saliva into his ear canal.

Mud and dirt parted as the old Bartender's head bounced back down, Boulder growing in barely restrained fury. "Line them up," Boulder said, as his men dragged the daughters forth, pulling them by their long puffy squirrel-tails for the sake of drawing out a few more screams. "I want them to watch. Are the rest of you louts watching too? Well good! Keep watching!"

Pushing himself onto his knees, the Bartender just glared at the man who tormented his family so. Shooting his daughters a final look of apology for no longer being able to protect them—trying not to break down at the sight of their tearful expressions—he exhaled and waited for the bat to come. Sometimes, bad things just happen to good folks.

Rearing back, Boulder took a deep breath and brought it down. He stopped it just before striking the Bartender in the head. "One." He repeated the same action, substantially faster this time. "Two." He pulled all the way back, giving the townsfolk a smirk as he prepared to bring it down one last time. "Thr—"

The screeching wheels of a bicycle interrupted his countdown as a human cyclist suddenly rode into the midst of the execution. "Justice crash!" howled Mumen Rider, launching his bike into the face of an stunned Boulder.

Shocked silence permeated through the town as Boulder watched the bike slide uselessly off his face and land on the head of the Bartender, who winced on impact. "I—who is this? Did I tell you guys to watch!"

"You told us to watch the town boss," the right-hand stammered, "not out the town too."

Scoffing, Boulder placed the bat back on his shoulder and leisurely wandered over to Mumen Rider, who greeted him with a fighting stance. "Though I may have only recently arrived in this world, and stand lost little a clue to where I am," began Mumen Rider, "I know injustice when I see it. I will not let you harm these people…"

Whatever Rider was trying to say was effectively cut off by Metal Bat walking right past him and pushing him back into the group. There were four of them. Three extremely odd humans with questionable fashion choices-one among them looked as if he sealed the hells themselves into his irises; with each step King took forward, the gang shuffled back. They barely noticed the odd beast accompanying them with a horse's head and a suit.

It was also evident that the four had clearly had no idea where they were.

Stopping just a few meters away from each other, Metal Bat and Boulder sized up their opposition. More and more though, Metal Bat found himself smirking at the jacket that Boulder was wearing. Pointing his bat right in Boulder's face, Metal Bat smirked. "That is a damn fine jacket you got there." Metal Bat shifted his namesake into a swinging grip. "Take it off."

"Wh—what?" Boulder barely managed to say, in disbelief to what he was hearing. "What!"

Metal Bat sighed and walked forward, leaving the rest of the heroes behind. "I'm going to give you three seconds to take off that jacket and hand it to me."

Boulder's blank stare continued. And then, almost discordantly, laughter burst through him. "You...you want me too...ha! No. You will grant me your bat."

Metal Bat grinned reared his bat back. "Alright then, here it comes."

Sometimes, things just happen to work out.

...

吊二傻子的note: **Many thanks for those of you who keep providing detailed critiques of my work. You have no idea how much I appreciate feedback regarding the structural probity of the scenes and response to the characters. When serious moments get a bit too melodramatic for you, or if the comedy falls a bit too slapstick, blue, or lacking, do not hesitate to compose me a list of your grievances—with the entrails of a disemboweled wolverine if you so feel like it. Ultimately, my duty here is to make sure that all of you find joy in the work, and should that not be met then I really don't think you're getting your money's worth…well, I do work for free.**

 **Though I won't follow each and every request made towards me, don't be discouraged; please continue to rant and rave at me. They do get through, much like the cranking of a drill goes through my skull.**

 **Now, stay tuned for the next chapter in which Adam files a note of dissatisfaction regarding Cinder's service, who is more interested in her glove's capabilities than interacting with the customers. Ozpin tries has a meeting next to a giant tree in his office. The heroes continue to be lost on the other side of the world.**

 **Meanwhile, the Grimm start to get swole...**


	16. Interlude: Contagion

_Note:_ _Do not own. Will have full chapter up in next few days. Many thanks to_ _YUIOP10 for assistance and beta-ing. The words and sentence structure should now slowly stop resembling what would happen if a truck ran into your dog and your mailman and then into a wall which results in your inability to tell which from which. Ahem. Anyway, a bit on the short side of this interlude, but full chapter coming up within the next two days._

Interlude:

Contagion

A sullen mood hung over the camp as the White Fang worked away at setting up their new tents with tired fingers and shocked spirits. Far north to the encampment stood a solitary tribute to their abandoned operation, with broken machinery and still bodies buried beneath a rubble of hulking trees.

Within the camp, the White Fang glanced out warily at the trees surrounding them, shaken by their experience with the trees just prior, and occasionally, firing a shot or two at some leaves that seemed to shake far too much.

Torn-up tents fluttered and shivered in the midnight air as generators sputtered to provide power for the dim monitors within.

Alone with a handful of men on lookout, Adam's unleashed his pent-up wrath, with only his silent Lieutenant and a shivering attendant-who held up Cinder's face upon a scroll-bearing witness. She watched unimpressed, as he murderously cut down more trees in a preemptive strike to prevent more attacks from the wooden threat.

His anger was understandable. Even the tree murdering. After all, anyone would develop a phobia of them after an entire forest descended upon their heads.

With furious cleaves, his enemies fell in neatly severed parts, the earth beneath splitting in accordance. The blade whirred several more times, flaring red with each flick of his wrist, the normally dexterous motions crippled by rage. With each concurrent thrust and hew, gusts of wind split the horizon—the forest grew to bear the visage of what he wished upon Cinder's body.

She suspects that he might have actually attempted it if she was actually there. Alas, there was but a image of her for him to direct his fury. Not nearly enough to sate his rage without the blood that follows.

"Are you quite done?" her voice sweet, and mocking. His grip tightened.

Willing his hand to stop quivering, Adam breathed in and out, bottling his hate in a cage of control. He wouldn't give her the pleasure of hearing a struggled exhale. "Done? No. Not nearly. Not after what you did to us. What you made me do."

"And in doing what I told you to, you have secured yourself a future for your kingdom. The doubt and anger in you is completely understandable, but in but a few seconds, those feelings will fade."

"Fade—"

"Sir," huffed a scout as he ran up to Adam, with startled disbelief in his eyes. "Brother Adam—Sir-Atlas-They're here!"

The scout's words hitched in his throat as he heaved with exhaustion.

"They found us? How—"

"-I gave them the location." Cinder's admission was honest and blunt, without hesitation. Gasoline filled Adam's veins as he felt his rage burst. "After all, it would be quite difficult to surrender to you if they didn't know where you were."

Water doused the blaze and a chill drifted through Adam instead. "What?"

"Sir," the scout huffed and gasped, getting his breath under control. "It's true. They landed on the other side of camp, with arms offered to us and a white flag raised high. But sir...something's wrong with them. They're acting...in pace with each other."

"...What do you mean, 'in pace'?"

A struggle began with the scout's articulation and ended at the tightness of his brow. "You'll have to see them yourself, sir. I can't explain it at all. Nothing's natural about it! Nothing!"

Looking to his Lieutenant—body language reading of a grimace ever since the (supposedly) failed operation—Adam sneered. "Call them. But check them again and keep them under guard at all moments."

"The suspicion is commendable, but unnecessary." The way Cinder spoke sent anger surging through him again. She always knew something that he didn't, was always capable of plotting and planning and weaving things that he had to accommodate. She was the master in this transaction, and he the beast, the slave. Now, she was forcing him deeper into business with Atlas?

The surrendering party of the Sternside moved in sync, breathed in sync, and even stared directly forward in sync. They had surrendered their ship without resistance, making the whole affair feel like a delivery. A eerie feeling drifted through the camp as every Fang who laid eyes on the Atlas captives knew that there was something wrong about them, and quite obviously as well; they'd never seen humans who bled black through their eyes constantly, the liquid dripping but never meeting the earth,simply fading into thin air.

Past dozens of wary and weary eyes they marched, boots lifting and falling with uncanny rhythm. Soon, they had moved past the main body of the encampment towards the head of the forest.

From beyond the screen and a considerable distance away, Cinder lifted her glove and felt their auras impaled on her fingers once more. "Greet." Power flowed through them and into through her. She felt them bound to her will, their auras empowering her through the glove. With each additional link, she grew stronger in control.

"Greetings, Commander Taurus." The voice was legion, booming as a single unified whole. Beside Adam, the Lieutenant's lip twitched as he grew more unnerved by the warped men and women of Atlas.

"Bow," Cinder said giving a demonstration of her might over Atlas.

In unison, they bowed at once, lowering their heads sharply at exactly the same time. There was a slight difference between all their heights, and a particularly tall female officer ended up head-butting the crewman ahead of her in the tail bone. Falling over face first into the dirt with a crack, the crewman just stay there with rear raised towards the air, body in the same position, unmoving. Neither pain nor embarrassment registered on any of their faces.

Cinder sighed. "Suppose I failed to account for their different heights. Regardless, here is a gift and an apology for the warriors you lost."

"What is the meaning of this?" Adam asked. "How…what did you do to them?" The smiles on their faces were modeled entirely off of hers—it didn't fit them, and their facial muscles all but tore from bone to accommodate a perfect match for her grin.

She smiled sweetly as she always did, mocking his cluelessness. "Just know that more of these gifts will come in due time; a continued benefit of our successful partnership." The way she says the word partnership sounds like she is talking down to a dull child. "And do bring them to the others. You'll be pleased to see what they can do."

Considering it momentarily, Adam gave and waved for a guard to bring in some of the Atlas captives to test Cinder's surprise.

It didn't take long for them to forcibly drag in a bleeding officer. She fought them every step of the way, uniform torn and smeared with blood, both of hers and not. It takes several solid strikes from the guards for her to go to her knees. Not once does she stop thrashing and roaring.

"A lively one," Cinder noted. "Good. She'll prove to be even more effective for this demonstration." Compelling a single thrall to break from sync, Cinder sent puppet forward with arms outstretched. "Spread."

"Corthinia," the bleeding officer gasped, seemingly recognizing the approaching puppet. "What did they do to—"

A burst of darkness drowned whatever else the officer was going to say as sinews of black and red snapped loose from every orifice of the puppet, twisted slick before snapping through the air and forcing its way into her. Through flesh and mouth did the strands first invade, choking cries barely audible. The guards next to the jerking and twitching officer stumbled back, mouths widening in horror.

Soon, the twitching subsided and the cries turned to gulps as the officer began to swallow. For a few heartbeats, her body lay still. Then, like absolutely nothing had happened, she sat up nonchalantly, smirk on her face just like the one from the puppet that warped her.

The fire in Cinder's eyes smoldered. "Bow."

Every last puppet, including the newly broken one, collapsed to their knees and bent their heads unto the earth before Adam's feet.

"I recommend you introduce them to the rest of your captives," said Cinder. "Do you understand what I have given you? They will obey you. Your every order. Your every command."

Dazed, Adam nodded, as he still tried to wrap his head around the kneeling Atlas soldiers. "How—"

Cinder smiled and cut the transmission. Adam looked to the Lieutenant, who was equally disturbed by the unfolding situation.

Adam simmered in bitterness and deepened fury. With this new power for them to wield, Atlas would be struck blows mortal and fatal, but the blade that dealt them would not be his to own, but merely borrow. Knowing this, he wondered how long it would take for the rest of his people to understand that they'd merely traded in for a newer overlord.

This would not do. She couldn't stay.

Their balance of power needed to be readjusted.


	17. Escalation III: Confusion

_Disclaimer: Own not me do, please do not sue._

Escalation III:

Confusion

For most places, having a warship bombing part of your school is usually grounds for a few days of closure. Meanwhile, Beacon decided this was the perfect opportunity to make their students get up an hour earlier, head towards the auditorium, and listen to an hour long lecture about how to evade fire from warships.

None of the students were remotely awake enough to pay attention.

"And students, remember," Port continued with a grandiose wave of his arm, "staying still during a warship attack…"

The heads of students went limp and straightened periodically as drowsiness lasted through the rising of dawn.

"…leaves you with only ashes and smoke," Port finished for them with a inappropriate hearty laugh. With that, the slide show clicked to a close and the lights turned back on. A groans echoed from all corners of the room as the students fought to get to their feet and trample off towards the next class.

"Oh, and as a final reminder," Port added, "the next round of the tournament has been postponed until next week when the rest of the trees should be finally removed from the engines of the arena. Have a nice day, and I'll see those of you in History II in class."

Released from momentary torment, the students burst through the auditorium doors and made way for class. Most of them trotted along, muttering to each other about the events of yesterday, the warship; the attack. Ruby on the other hand had a different question on her mind. "Did you see where Genos and Penny went yesterday. We haven't seen them all day."

"I'm pretty sure I saw them follow after General Ironwood after the rescue effort ended. Can't say I know where they went afterwards,"

"They probably turn up later," said Weiss, "it's Genos is going to be particularly har-har-harr?"

"Weiss?" Ruby said, concerned. "What is it."

Wordlessly, Weiss just pointed at two figures entering the building. It soon became evident to what she was pointing at.

"Uh, Yang?" Ruby said. "Is that the hoodie you made for uncle Qrow on his birthday a few years ago?"

Turning to see what Ruby was pointing at, Yang quickly deduced from the uneven stitching, the shortness of one sleeve compared to the over extension of the other, and the badly scribbled blast of glitter across the hoodie's front that it was indeed a beast of her creation. Under the light of the rising sun through the windows, students and staffers alike cursed and winced at the the fashion monstrosity that was Saitama. Beside him, Qrow didn't look much better; his hair-stuck together with dull white smears from his wall-told a story of a one sided battle that he lost.

"Yep," said Yang. "Definitely my hoodie. Why's bald-punch man wearing it?"

"Likely because my master did not bring a change of clothes when we entered this world. Perhaps your uncle was kind enough to lend him a shirt." Genos sudden intrusion on the conversation caused a very Yang-like reaction: she turned and tried to punch him. The fist met Penny's open palm before it could gain any velocity.

"Apologies!" greeted Penny cheerfully, "did we startle you?"

Rolling her eyes, Yang retracted her gauntlets back into their bracelet-forms. "No," Yang said, quite sarcastically, "not at all. Totally expected you to show up just behind me. I thought you two where stuck with the General? What they asking you guys anyway?"

Penny's mouth drew into a straight line.

…

 _In the other room, several Atlas officers took turns vigorous shaking Genos hand. He didn't seem too amused by the round robin of introductions he was forced through. They also had a form and pen that they kept wanting hand over to him to sign, but clearly didn't quite know how to squeeze this action in between their groveling before his "timely remediation of yesterday's situation."_

 _Separated by a closed door and walls that he just didn't feel where thick enough, Ironwood began his own conversation with Penny._

" _Penny," Ironwood said, "you know that you weren't supposed leave the city without clear instructions."_

 _Ashamed, Penny lowered her head to avoid meeting Ironwood's gaze. "I am sorry, sir. But Genos!" By this point, Penny just began to point towards the other room where Genos was. "His design is….im-peccable!"_

 _Ironwood laughed to himself at how enamored Penny was. "Penny, in this instance, I understand. But," Ironwood's voice turned serious, "under no circumstances should you ever disobey orders again. Understood."_

" _Yes sir."_

 _Taking a moment to study Penny, Ironwood made his move. "Penny."_

" _Yes sir?"_

" _How would you like to be attached to Genos as part of a mission detail."_

 _A smile grew across Penny's face. "At Beacon?"_

" _At Beacon. Of course, your orders of discretion still stand, but beyond that you'll be free to follow him around and keep an eye on him."_

 _Leaning forward with her eyes widening, Penny spoke, almost far too softly to hear, "Are you asking me to spy on Genos, sir?"_

 _Paranoia swept through as he suspected Genos likely might have some advanced hearing augmentations as well. Ironwood wasted no time trying to remedy the situation. "No. Just… establishing rapport between him and Atlas. Through you, of course. We want to know where he is so that he might be able to receive aid should he need it. He is after all a guest to Remnant. Are you willing to help us with this Penny, we understand since your field tests are entire—"_

" _General," Penny said standing up and snapping to salute with more enthusiasm than he ever seen, "I have never felt more ready for a mission."_

" _At ease, Penny," Ironwood said, quite bemused. "There is one caveat: don't let anyone know."_

 _Penny lowered her salute. "Sir, this is starting to sound like spying again—"_

" _It's not spying," Ironwood all but blurted out. "It just Atlas policy to not let anyone know more than they need to about our operations. Understand Penny?"_

" _Yes sir. Operation 'befriend Genos and follow him around just short of spying is underway' is underway."_

" _General," Ironwood nearly shot into the ceiling when one of the public relations officers shoved his door open._

" _Knock." Ironwood grunted._

" _Oh-uh-sorry, sir. Genos has agreed to corroborate our statement on the rogue vessel."_

 _From two rooms across, Genos just sat there, staring right into Ironwood's eyes with the same grim expressionless that he always held. Ironwood couldn't tell if he heard anything or not. "That's…great. Yes...thank you Genos."_

 _Genos simply nodded. He seemed more machine than cyborg with how little he emoted; Penny was far more human that he was._

" _Penny," Ironwood said, "you're dismissed. Let Ciel know where you are so she can come along as assist you as well. I'll update her with the details when she arrives."_

" _Thank you sir," Penny said, bouncing to her feet and heading out the room. Half way out, she did a drastic turn—nearly knocking over one of the relations officers—and saluted. Ironwood did the same._

…

"That's classified," said Penny.

"Alright," Yang said, "kinda figured. Took them all night to question you two huh?"

Penny shook her head. "We finished slightly after midnight. Afterwards, we agreed on a mutually beneficial exchange."

Blake arched an eyebrow. "What does that mean exactly?"

"We showed each other our parts," said Genos.

A series of odd looks were leveled at Genos, who no one was sure even knew about the use of euphemisms. "Uh…G-Genos? What parts." Ruby was redder than a tomato, and growing even redder as Yang's growing grin came into her periphery. "What do you mean by parts?"

Knowing that Ruby asked a question that she really shouldn't have, Blake sighed. "Here we go."

"Would you like to see too?" Penny asked. "Genos, maybe you can show them."

Genos considered it for a moment and nodded, reaching down to lower his pants as the propulsion ports on his leg opened up.

"Genos!" Weiss squeaked as she saw Genos's pants fall, "what are you doing?" Reaching out to keep his pants from falling further, Weiss wretched the pants up while Genos pulled down, the different directions of force causing a very audible ripping noise. Recoiling in horror and humiliation, Weiss held a scrap of Genos's pants while the rest flopped down onto the floor.

"Yo, Geno—" said Saitama, finally getting to the group with Qrow trailing him. His words died in his throat as his mouth hung open at Weiss's attempt to harass his cyborg apprentice inappropriately. "Why'd you rip his pants?"

For a few beats, no one spoke. It would have been completely silent if Qrow didn't chuckle so audibly and take a picture with his scroll. Weiss horror grew ten-fold.

As Weiss covered her eyes (with the scrap) and turned against the hallway wall to hide from her shame, the rest of team RWBY continued looking down with disbelief and confusion. Passing students found themselves stopping slowing to a sudden halt as well.

"Uh, Genos," Yang said, trying to find the words. "There…there is usually is something…there."

"I was entirely reconstructed," Genos said. "The only parts of me that are still flesh are a few organs and parts of my brain."

"His doctor was very skilled. Most people would be deceased if they had most their flesh removed," Penny added, a bit too cheerily.

Yang placed her hand on his shoulder and patted Genos for consolation. "I'm sorry for your loss."

From his resulting stare, it was quite clear that Genos didn't understand what her apology was for.

Saitama shuffled over to Weiss. "Hey, Weiss. It doesn't count as indecent exposure if he's a cyborg. I don't think you need to call your lawyers. But in the future can you not tear Genos's pants."

"What-" Weiss withdrew from the corner and glanced at Genos. The rest of the team was looking down. Qrow was looking down and contemplating drinking more. Penny just seemed happy regardless. Ruby's blushed deepened ever more. Hands shaking, Weiss offered the scrap of jeans back to Genos who took it back.

"S-sorry."

Genos looked at the scrap and then down at his fallen jeans. "It's okay. However, I still do not understand why you tore them in the first place."

"She thought you were going to show everyone in the hallway the goods," explained Coco nonchalantly as she passed by with the rest of her team. Giving Genos's missing part nary a glance, it seemed that she was already used to this sort of thing. "Most people has stuff down there," she finished as she disappeared into the crowd.

Finally, Genos understood. "I see."

Holding up a small needle and string that she procured out of seemingly nowhere, Penny smiled brightly at Genos. "If you would like, I can sew your pants back together."

Nodding to Penny, Genos handed his pants over after pulling them off completely.

This is of course when Glynda came over to lay eyes on the presumably lewd. "What is going on here? Genos? What are you doing? You can—where—what?"

Facing Glynda with Genos's pants in Penny's hands, working with effervescent glee, all of team RWBY grew petrified as the rest of the students quickly made a tactical retreat into their class rooms.

Behind Genos, Saitama just waved while everyone else fought to avoid eye-contact. The hallway cleared itself up quite quickly as the next bell-rang; while this was happening, Glynda just kept staring at the polished triangular strip of metal that seemed to constitute Genos's loins.

Her hold on the crop loosened as she took off her glasses and put them back on. "Genos—I—public exposure—" Glynda stopped and frowned, it probably doesn't count as indecent exposure if there is nothing to expose. She missed the time when the rules and reprimands she had to give were just based in simple logic, not this sudden intrusion of moon punching and cyborg nudity nonsense. Done sewing, Penny returned Genos's pants without further dithering. "Just pull your pants back up," Glynda managed to finish. "Please."

Genos did what she asked without question. For a few more seconds, a lull took place in time and Glynda's brain—which was trying to reboot after what she just had to deal with. Finally, as her eye started moving again, she let loose a frown. "Saitama. Qrow. Follow me. We're going to the Headmaster. The rest of you…get to class. Or wherever—I—just go to class."

Still reeling, Glynda shook her head and retreated with two more in tow.

"So," Ruby said, trying to break the silence, "shall we go to class? Genos, Penny are you two coming?" Beside her, Weiss was already done with today. She turned and began marching down the hallway with Ruby's collar in one hand and her face covered in the other.

"No," Genos said, "I need to visit someone."

"Visit someone? Who—gah Weiss." Ruby reluctantly let Weiss drag her along the way towards class. "Never mind. Let me know how it goes. I'll see you two later?"

"Later Ruby!" Penny waved, as jubilant as ever.

Genos nodded as Ruby disappeared behind a corner.

…

Where a massive tree was staked through the building yesterday now was several newly carved red oak chairs, and a single polished desk. The damage dealt to Ozpin's office was extensive, encompassing, and looked to take day to repair. Then, five minutes after he returned to his tower yesterday after his 'wanderings,' something of a restorative miracle seemed to happen.

"Little John, mug please."

The chirping of the bird told Ozpin that his coffee was on the way. When he returned to his office yesterday, he found the poor thing trapped beneath rubble and surrounded by what appeared to be indentations from someone trying to kill it with a blunt object. Taking pity, Ozpin took the small bird into his hand and told it was going to be fine. Awaking at to the sound of his voice, the weak bird opened its eyes to see Ozpin looking down at it.

It promptly passed out again from fright.

Today, Little John dragged the mug that it defecated in along the floor. Its wings were still broken, but the power of its fear was strong, and beckoned it to serve Ozpin to the utmost of its abilities for the sake of its continuing survival; he assumed it was just because his natural charm with nature.

"Your meeting with Atlas command went well I presume?" Ozpin said while looking out at the reconstructive efforts happening across campus.

"As well as it could have gone. Probably better than I anticipate this address we're about to have with the council."

"Perhaps," Ozpin said as he took his mug from the exhausted Little John and began to drink. "But you must remember, this looks as bad on them as it does Atlas. They made the choice to instate you as defenders of the festival."

"Oz," Ironwood said, looking for the right thing to say, "I—"

"So how's everyone feeling this morning," Qrow asked the elevator doors closed behind him. It seemed that Glynda had brought the group up just in time. "Bad? Well since we're talking to the council it's bound to get worse."

"Qrow," Glynda sighed.

"You should have told me we were coming up to speak with the five most useless people in power on Remnant," Qrow continued. "If I would have known sooner maybe I could have fashioned a rope to hang myself during our ride up."

"Qrow." Her glare told him that another word would make hanging a reality. Qrow rolled his eyes and simmered down. "Headmaster." With that, she just fell into her seat

"Professor Goodwitch," Ozpin said, noticing the disturbed look in her eye, "are you well."

"I'm fine," Glynda said, just glaring at the desk. "There is no problem with me." Ozpin confirmed that there was most certainly a problem with her.

"Someone tore the cyborg's pants and since he lacks the stuff, Glynda couldn't punish him for it, hence the pent up frustration," Qrow explained. A potted plant quickly flew into the back of his head.

"I…see," Ozpin said, trying to process the information, "I—lecturer Saitama, you have chosen an…interesting combination of clothes for the day."

"I got it from him," Saitama said, point at Qrow with the arm that had one sleeve short.

"Naturally," Ironwood said.

Just going along with the daily chaos, Ozpin sauntered over towards his seat and knocked on the red oak desk that was once a tree. A tree stabbed through his building through extreme aerobics. Ozpin frowned slightly. "Do you hate the Forever Fall, lecturer Saitama?"

Saitama shook his head, confused.

"Do you hate trees then? Does the green on them give you some kind of…traumatic memory of your past or an enemy you fought?"

Thinking to himself for a moment, sifting through adversaries numerous and unnamable, Saitama decided again to shake his head.

"Do you hate coffee?" looking towards the far corner of the room, where the next coffee maker was locked in a glass box made of lab-tested glass meant to withstand pressures beneath the waves.

"Headmaster," Glynda said, her meaning clear in her drooping stare.

Noticing the hint to refocus the topic, Ozpin brought his mug up to his mouth and took a sip. It was a loud sip, the loudest sip that Ozpin had ever taken. Ironwood knew Ozpin well enough to equate loud to annoyance. Lowering the mug, the blistering hot steam from the coffee drifted through Ozpin's nostrils, floating over towards Saitama's face. "Lecturer. In the future, if there is an attack, or an emergency…please use some moderation for your force. There are repercussions to how much damage you do. And on a related note, thank you."

Taken aback by the sudden turn from warning to appreciation, Saitama gave Ozpin a confused look. "Thank me?"

"You did save the lives of several ships and hundreds of soldiers. Damages, no matter how severe, comes secondary to the protection of life."

"A lot of Atlas soldiers owe you their lives," said Ironwood. "Many of them no doubt want to thank you."

Beside Saitama, Qrow gagged as he tried to suppress lewd images of Ironwood and a cohort of Atlas marines sensually waggling their eyebrows at Saitama, all barely dressed. "Need to stop watching that stuff."

"What?" Saitama asked. Ironwood also craned his neck over to frown at Qrow.

"It's nothing," Qrow said punching himself in the head to beat the thoughts away.

Tired of waiting for the group to calm down, Glynda reached over and hit the call button on Ozpin's monitor. The room darkened as curtains began to fall, blocking out the outside light. Above them, a holographic screen burst into being. Moments later, several shadowy figures came into view: The Council of Vale. For a few brief moments they just sat there, waiting, watching while the council assembled, each muttering the shadows trying to find their seats. Then, loud bang was heard, followed quickly by curses.

The rest of the council got out their seats and rushed off-screen to assist someone. On Beacon's side, Qrow shook his head and pulled out his scroll. The council was making a mockery of itself. Again. He might as well play video games.

As the council took their seats again, the lights in the room came on. One by one, the council took their seats, now clearly visible under illumination. There was an older, wrinkled man in a golden suit who had the look of someone likely to disembowel someone's entire family if that certain someone breathed on him too much. At least, those where the stories spread about councilman Midas.

Beside him, councilman Ludwig straightened his silken blouse and rubbed his head while glaring at councilwoman Rapunzel, a strikingly attractive woman with hair that extended far below what was shown on screen. Her eyes shone a light green, the same color as the dress she wore.

Finally, there was councilman Fudd, whose increasing baldness was a growing concern for him, and councilwoman Aurora, bags beneath her eyes as dark as the suit she wore.

"Apologies. Councilman Ludwig accidentally tripped on something in the dark," said Councilwoman Rapunzel.

"Something," Ludwig muttered bitterly in the back under his breath. "It's your damn hair and the fact that no one ever turns on the light. They know what we look like. What's the point of the darkness?"

The rest of the council, long since used to Ludwig's constant complaining, silently unanimously voted against giving him any attention.

"Bastards," Ludwig grumbled, "the lot of you."

"Understandable. Take as much time as you need to get settled," Ozpin said. "I understand that we have long session ahead of us today."

"On the contrary," one Councilman Fudd said, head bald but covered in blemishes and bumps filled with pus and other delightful liquids, "we have a long day ahead of us, so this session will have to be truncated. Something about city hall having a near meltdown over an impending Atlas attack! Something like that. I believe that we have agendas three to discuss today. Councilwoman Aurora, if you would please."

Jerking to life as she rubbed the bags of dark and blue under her eyes, Councilwoman Aurora straightened herself and cleared her throat. "First order of business," she interrupted herself with a yawn, "is pertaining the spending of Beacon academy. We've noticed a drastic spike in repair fees." All eyes on the side of Beacon briefly cut towards Saitama.

"On a related note, we would like to discuss the matter of your new…guests? The one you told us about last time is there with you."

"Hi," Saitama said, waving his hand. The suddenness of the action was so uncalled for and awkward that Qrow shuffled away while still playing on his scroll.

"Greetings," Ludwig said, giving Saitama a smile before he noticed that none of his cohorts were delivering the same courtesy. His smiled jerked into a dull expressionless void as he adopted a glare similar to the rest of his colleagues.

"Finally-" Councilwoman Aurora slumped over without finishing the sentence. Everyone waiting for a moment, giving her the respect and time to catch her breath, but it soon became apparent—especially from the snoring—that she was very asleep. An incomprehensible babble of signs and mutters soon arose from the other four Councilmembers. From seemingly out of thin air, Fudd pulled a long stick and jabbed at the back of Aurora's head. Like adrenaline had jolted through her, Aurora shot back up. "And the most essential issue of importance: Atlas. Atlas and the events of yesterday. After that, we will decide whether changes will occur."

It was a very thinly veiled threat directed at Ironwood. Everyone felt it.

"So, with upmost haste, let us begin," Councilman Fudd said, pulling up his scroll and scanning his eyes across it. "I see the fees listed under repairs coming up multiple times. Now we understand that this is an academy for Huntsmen and Huntresses but…twenty-five million Lien listed under the vague title of repairs does raise a few questions."

"Of course," Ozpin said, looking down into his coffee. "A very valid concern. A significant portion of our repairs had to go towards removal of debris and damages done towards the school in this past week. Considering the events of yesterday and the 'surprising' occurrence of Moonfall a few days ago, Beacon has been through a considerable amount. I trust that you can see all the details to the transactions."

"That much understandable, if true, but why do we seen funds directed towards a planting service and the purchase of a dozen trees of varying natures."

"The Forever Fall took an-" Ozpin stopped and reminded himself of the one earlier in the week as well, "-several immense impacts just this week. We had to replant the forest entirely for Moonfall, and though we were able to locate a good number of the trees during yesterday's events. There are still some that remain missing."

"Very well," picking at his pimple, Fudd frowned to himself as everyone else tried not to make eye contact with the emerging white from the red. "But there are also questionable bits of spending as well. Tell me Headmaster, why did you install a well under the hunter monument?"

"A well." Ozpin was skilled enough in rhetoric not to phrase that as a statement, but unfortunately he had little to no memory of the day before during the darkest moments of his fever dream. He tapped his cane against the ground twice: it was a code meant to signal Glynda for assistance. "Yes," Ozpin said, tapping his cane even faster now as he tried to bid for time. "The well."

What Ozpin didn't know was that Port hadn't told Glynda about the well yet, leaving her just as much in the dark as he was.

Glares were being pointed at Ozpin now. A lesser man would have wilted. If he was less calm and controlled, he might have backhanded Genos across the face by now. But this was Ozpin, so in that second of glaring, time dilated and congealed, lengthening by his will and for him alone. In moments, he gave a small glance to Councilman Midas who has been quiet so far. The solemn man clad in a golden suit and tie glared blankly onwards as his eyes met Ozpin's. "Our students requested a well."

"Your students requested it?" Fudd asked. "And you just decided to capitulate to their demands? Spending how much on installing a well? What if they request something even more costly next time? More absurd? Are you going to give them that too?"

"They requested it…vehemently. Not two days ago, I overheard a few of our students conversing about the unfortunate lack of a well at the front of Beacon." This was the moment that Ozpin struck his final blow. "They claimed that Haven one that completed the appearance of their school. Some even spoke of transferring—"

"Get that damn well!" growled Midas, eyes blazing yellow in hate and remembrance. Ozpin's plan had succeeded. Years prior, from ancient history probably not even known to the rest of the council, Midas lost his company, and his lover to a merchant from Mistral. His undying hatred of all things Mistral was borne from that day. "Get that well and make whatever vile piece of refuse they call a well look like our latrines. You have my full support to spend whatever you want on this." The rest of the council just kept their heads low as Midas collapsed back in his chair, cardio spent from the yelling.

Innocently, Ozpin lowered his head. "As you wis—"

In fact, make our latrines look like their well. The Mistral kids are here aren't they? Give them something that reminds them of home!"

It was at this moment that Ozpin realized he tapped far too deeply into the hatred of Midas.

Falling back into his seat for a second time, Midas returned to his usual silence and disinterest. The rest of the room readjusted their clothes, twirled their hair, or just focused intently on their scroll until the moment passed long enough.

"We'll be looking into this further to make sure that there aren't any 'accidental' gaps in your numbers," said Fudd, still picking at his bumps. "Onto the second bit of contention—"

"You should get a hat and change your shampoo," Saitama said.

Fudd blinked, pulling his hand away from his scalp. "I'm sorry?"

"I had a lot of rashes too when I was first going bald. And some pimples. Some shampoo might irate your skin or might not be enough to wash away the dirt. The blemishes and flaking skin should be because your scalp is sensitive to the sun. You've gone entirely bald just recently haven't you?"

"Yes," Fudd answered, taken aback.

"It will take time for your head to adjust."

For a good long while, Fudd found himself unable to respond. So did most of everyone else. "Thank…you? And you are the new…lecturer? Right?"

"Yeah."

Fudd narrowed his eyes at Saitama, looking for any hint of mockery or _anything_ resembling sarcasm. He failed. "….thank you. Anyway, this might be the point where we move into our second topic. Our guest here. You are Saitama, correct."

"Yep."

The council studied him intently for a moment. Ludwig leaned in. "You cause the Moonfall. You stopped the Moonfall. You stopped the attack yesterday too. Don't deny it. There's a reason why we asked for your presence specifically."

A series of videos and images were promptly put into alongside the faces of the council. On each video and image, Saitama was shown doing something from the past week. It was a compilation to behold.

"Student video recordings, media glimpses, street cameras, all of them have you doing things far beyond what even the most powerful hunters can. You—what do you want?"

"What?"

"We know where you are from what you told the Headmaster. But what we don't know is, what do you want."

Saitama thought long and hard. "Well, eventually I'd like to figure out a way to get back home."

"The portal," Rapunzel interjected, "is there a way to replicate it?"

Saitama shrugged. "Genos probably knows better than I do."

"The one the city is calling the Chrome Savior of Vale?" Midas asked.

Saitama didn't know Genos was called that. "Chrome Savior of Vale?"

"Regardless," Fudd interjected, "this means you're stuck here right? Can't get back right now."

Saitama nodded.

The council promptly retreated and began to mutter amongst themselves.

"Saitama," said Aurora after they finally finished, "we would like you to come along—with Genos—down to city hall tomorrow. There are things we would like to clear up and understand. In the meantime, if it would be at all possible, try not to break anything else."

"Sure," Saitama said.

The council stared at him.

He started at the council.

There was clear undercurrent of disbelief going through their minds.

"Finally," Rapunzel spoke, breaking through the awkwardness, "we have the matter of Atlas—"

"Your ship fired on our city! It nearly smashed into our buildings," Fudd shouted shocking the rest of the council as he pointed at Ironwood. "I was shaving in the morning and I look out my window and see a ship coming right at me! I would have died! Died! Then—then that Genos did the laser and the ship was gone—and—and…"

The of the council was glaring at him by this point.

"What councilman Fudd meant to say is," said Midas, "General, we sincerely hope you have one hell of a story to tell us and the city, because down on the streets, things are getting testy between your people and ours, and since we're the ones who put you in charge, well…I hope you have something good to say is all."

"We," Ironwod said, visibly trying to reign in his frustration, "are looking into the matter. The information will be released to the public once we have made certain of all the evidence, and clarified the situation—"

"I'm didn't ask for a press statement General," Midas said, voice dangerously low, "I want your best idea regarding what happened. Because down in detention, we have a weeping Atlas Captain who won't stop crying for his daughter, and claims to not remember anything about the last forty-eight hours."

"We don't know much more than any of you do, but Genos—the one who stopped the ship—may have additional insight into the Captain's condition."

"I see," Midas said. "All the more reason for tomorrow's meeting I suppose."

Taking a minute to go through the information they just gleaned, the council came to an agreement. "Very well. This meeting is adjourned today. Saitama," Midas said, "tomorrow. Genos. You. And wear something…presentable."

Without another word, the screen went dark.

"That's kinda rude," said Saitama.

"Hmm," Qrow lowered his scroll. "Is it over?"

"Indeed it is," Ozpin said, as the curtains around the room lifted, allowing light's presence to return in force. "I understand that we all have our duties to attend to shortly. Thank you for sending in the syllabus for the abnormal combat course General. This will make tracking the students' progress somewhat easier.

"Someone had to," Ironwood said, "I think Qrow might actually like what I have planned today.

Qrow backed away from Ironwood after that ominous statement.

Motioning the two to follow him along towards the elevator, the instructors of the Abnormal Combat course descended. Somewhere below, a transport airship, a mortar that launched rubber balls, and several other implements lay waiting on a field.

"Glynda," Ozpin said, looking down from his window at the construction happening around the statues. "When did we get a well."

"I was hoping you were going to explain that part to me."

Narrowing his eyes inquisitively, Ozpin did what he always did when he was uncertain: more coffee.

…

 _Two hours later…_

"Qrow, can you hear me, Qrow?"

"Yep," Qrow said with his scroll hanging by the side of his hip, loading rubber balls into the mortar. "Students there yet."

Hearing a transport ship fly over, Qrow looked up to see Saitama's radiant baldness and Ironwood holding a pair of binoculars and a laser designator standing with the doors open. "They're assembling. We will commence any minute. Are you ready?"

"Just make sure Saitama doesn't kill any of them." Qrow said with a frown. Ironwoon right, he was going to enjoy this. And that made him very bitter.

…

"Good afternoon students," Ironwood said through the ships speakerphones to the horde of gathered students, "I'm an assistant-lecturer General Ironwood, and today we will be simulating a warship bombardment. I believe that you will find this exercise to be timely and helpful in your future."

Emerald frowned and looked at Mercury, "Did they say bombardment."

"Yep."

"What are they going to hit us with—"

Where Cinder and her team once was, now was only raining earth and the smell of burn grass. Groans rose through the wreckage and nothing else. "That is the indication that the exercise has begun. To win, simply make it to the hill on the other end of this field. Good luck."

Without hesitation, the rest of the students immediately began running for the hill.

The here Qrow hid behind firing bursts of rubber mortar shots.

"It's begun," Ironwood said. Aiming his laser designator at one of the slower groups, Ironwood gave Saitama the go-ahead to bring ruin down from the sky. "Fire when ready."

Saitama lightly flicked the ball out using only his wrist.

…

Across campus, Glynda continued her lectures of dueling and singular combat. A shrill wail from the outside interrupted her discourse.

"aieeeeee-" squealed Sky, who seemed to be actually flying with a ball lodged into his chest. Gasps of disbelief and interest began through the class. Without even looking out the window, Glynda dropped the shutters for the window.

Even further away, Ozpin was still studying the well as a student flew by right under his window. Looking down into his coffee, Ozpin shrugged and took another drink. Life was full of mysteries.

…

Four minutes in and entire teams were already lost. The rain of rubber balls didn't cease, and the airship just kept circling around, making runs on the students, most of whom fell before the might of Saitama's concussive light-throws in their disarray.

At the very tip of the shelled field, team RWBY pushed onwards, with Yang punching trenches out to duck under and Weiss's ice barriers provide a modicum of protection.

"Weiss, ice-barricade," Ruby yelled as an explosion of grass and dirt splattered all over the trench of team RWBY. "We need more."

Her words came out just in time for Weiss's barrier to shatter in pieces, knocking the heiress to her back. The airship was targeting them specifically now. They needed to make a move.

Disgustedly flinging the muck that was raining on them off her hair, Weiss grimaced and tried to focus. "It's not going to work. We need to pull back."

"There isn't anywhere to pull back to," Ruby gestured behind them overdramatically as another rain of mortars fell on the students behind them. "We need to push forward. We need to get through this field, or we're dead! Dead!"

"I might have a way out for us," Blake said. "Not sure if it'll work though."

"Well," Yang said, firing a few shots to dig their trench deeper, "anything would be good now."

Blake closed her eyes and began to focus. Sweat dripped down her brow as she tried to do something a bit more than she was used to.

The light of the laser fell on their position. "Fire," Ironwood said as Saitama proceeded to do just that.

Moments later, through rising dust and dirt, the shadows of team RWBY charged over the top as Ruby blew a small whistle to urge the team forward.

Then, to the side, another few shadows of team RWBY rushed forth, doing the same thing. And another. And finally, one more circling around them back.

"Good use of semblance by Miss Belladonna. Probably be a good confusion tactic," Ironwood said to Saitama, "unfortunately, I think it's a misused on in this instance. Saitama," Ironwood designated a new position to strike with his pointer, "slightly harder ball between the running shadows."

Understanding what was being asked, Saitama obliged.

As the real team RWBY ran through the field, Blake looked up and heard it first. Slowing her steps, she began to feel what was coming. The air began its song, first a whistle, then a squeal, finally a scream, followed by the parting of the wind, and in that last fraction of a second a rubber ball burying itself deep in the earth.

The field shook and burst apart, the blast of force itself shredding the land and dissipating the shadow teams of RWBY as an avalanche of grass and dirt send the remainder of the other survivors tumbling back into their trenches.

"Shot landed, bald-1, shot landed," confirmed Qrow with a breath of catharsis. All over the field, students rolled and whimpered with prayers on the lips and mounds of dirt atop their bodies.

In a deep crater, team RWBY huddled together in a shell-shocked pile. "Why," Ruby groaned. "Why." Another blast later, several more bodies fell on top of theirs.

"Ow," Yang groaned as she cracked open her eyes to see Pyrrha's sprawled across her legs. "Hi Pyrrha."

"I'm sorry," Pyrrha said, with a weary shaken smile. "I meant to evade the impact."

"I think that was our idea too," Ruby added.

Yang chuckled. "Didn't do it though. Guess the lecturer is a real _bald's eye shot."_

And just like that, true pain was found in the crater as collective agonized moan went through everyone.

"Shut up Yang."

From the air, Ironwood waved Saitama off from further shots. "They're done. The operation is over." Lowering his binoculars, Ironwood surveyed the field with satisfaction resonating through him. "They did better than I expected."

Saitama didn't know what he was so happy about. "Aren't they all technically dead right now?"

"Yes. But it took slightly longer that I expected it to. Increments, Saitama. Let them learn in increments."

And with that, the transport ship made its descent down where an innumerable craters held the writhing bodies of their students.

Now that the exercise was done, it was time for the lesson.

…

 _Menagerie…_

Quiet had become rather commonplace at the Belladonna household. Ghira still spoke with Kali, but ever since his departure from leading the White Fang, ever since Blake left, life fled the once bustling household once filled with action and energy.

Alone they sat together, just he and his wife in the yard with two cups of tea, a massive bowl of mixed fruits, and the chirping of birds to accompany of percussive pattering of footsteps outside where the bustling streets were.

"Have you heard of the recent attack on Vale," Kali said, expression concerned as she scrolled through the news. "Beacon was briefly fired upon by a rogue Atlas warship."

Broad shoulders heaving as Ghira pushed away intrusive thoughts far too dark to fathom, he instead adopted a façade of nonchalance as he began to rip at a pineapple with his fingers. "Blake will be fine. I'm certain of it. She's far too skilled to be caught by a strafing run, far too fast. In the worst case her semblance would be able to prot—"

He felt the warmth of his wife's palm caress the top of his large hands. A smeared mess of fruit dripped of each of his fingers as she smiled to herself, bringing forth cloth to wipe away the juices trailing down his fingers. "She'll be fine, Ghira," Kali said reassuringly as she cleaned the mess with careful precision. "We worry, but our girl always makes us proud. No reason to suspect why she wouldn't do any different in this case."

Letting out a withheld sigh that had been caged for far too long, Ghira's thick shoulders slumped. "Look at me, Kali. Still can't help it."

"I know. She'll always be our little girl."

Looking into his wife's eyes, his fingers interlaced with hers. Without Kali, he would have been lost so many times.

The quiet was good. He liked the quiet.

Which was of course when the laws of the universe detected his happiness and decided that something weird had to follow.

Without warning, something round fell forth through the air and burst through their window. It then plopped right into the bowl between Kali and Ghira. Startled, Kali jerked back while Ghira turned to face whatever was interrupting his moment with a growl. The growl was cut short as Ghira noticed what was in the bowl and sported a frown.

"Ghira," Kali said, narrowing her eyes, "is that…"

"A head." Prodding the head with a single outstretched finger, Ghira's confusion deepened. "Huh?" Pulling up his scroll again, Ghira opened up the news and scrolled to the bottom where the bounty adverts were.

 _Boulder: Wanted Dead or Alive for 5000 Lien._

"Kali," Ghira said, clearing the who part of the situation up quite quickly, "a wanted criminal is in our fruit bowl."

From her growing discomfort, it was clear that she didn't expect such a turn of events to unfold. "How did he get here?" Kali asked, hitting the more interesting question.

…

They knelt before him in neat rows, each shaking and shivering in the dirt as he sauntered and paced before them, taking them time to wave his bat and get used the extra space that Boulder's jacket provided for his shoulders.

Across from the miserable bandits—smelling of cold putrid sweat, with piss pooling between their legs—the townsfolk watched in befuddlement and wonder as the humans—and one horse-thing—encircled the bandits and laid them low in a cage of fear.

Before them, Metal Bat whiffed his namesake through the air again, smiling as he felt his day get off to a great start. "Alright then, now that your boss is currently enjoying a scenic cruise courtesy of me," he pointed at Boulder's nameless headless body with a broken bat laid to the side, "let's get onto the pleasantries."

Giving a grin to the rest his companions, Metal Bat noticed the squirrel girls shivering amidst the crowd. They couldn't be out of their teens with how small they were, and were barely dressed for the weather. It seemed that they were pulled out of their houses when their were still sleep, judging from their ripped pajamas, to watch as the gang beat their father mercilessly. Beside them, Mumen Rider dressed the wounds of their father and supported their mother against his shoulder.

Sneering viciously, Metal Bat swung his bat around at the gathered gang with murder in his eyes. Those girls were barely older than his sister back home. These animals needed to be taught proper etiquette. "Bastards. Take off your jackets and pants."

The gang looked to each other, quite horrified at what was being asked of them.

"What? Did you think I was joking?" Metal Bat thrusted his bat through the collar of one of the prisoners before him, a diminutive lizard Faunus approximately the size of one of the girls. The suspended bandit's pants grew ever more drenched with each passing second. "Take it off."

Without a second to waste, the bandits ripped and yanks clothes their clothes off frantically. A solid whack against the ground—driving dirt into the air—drove them to stop. "Are you guys screwing with me! How are the villagers supposed to wear your stuff if it's ripped?" Hands shaking, the bandits continued on with their endeavor in fear and with controlled yanks.

Soon, in the blistering cold, the bandits knelt shaking next to each other, snort pouring out of their noses, clad only in their underwear. "Good. Very good. Now hand the clothes over to a villager of your size and apologize. Do it!"

Shooting to their feet, the bandits rushed towards the village people, who fought the urge to run as the horde of bandits stampeded over.

"Sorry."

"So sorry."

"Please forgive me!"

"I beg of you forgive me!"

Apologies filled the air as the bandits fell to their knees again, bowing and begging the villagers for forgiveness. The lizard bandit that was once suspended and one that seemed to be a rat found their way before the Bartender's daughters—the three girls barely knowing how to respond. Waving their large jackets and odorous, stained pants at the girls, Metal Bat saw the disgust in the girls' eyes as they stumbled back away from the pants still wetted with urine.

"Idiots!" Metal Bat kicked the lizard into the rat and sent them tumbling across the dirt path that led out of town. "You planned this didn't you? Pissing yourselves so that the villagers would be forced to wear your dirtied pants? You think you're clever."

"No! That's not what we wanted to do! Please believe me!" the rat crawled at the ground and grabbed Metal Bat's boots, laying his head down on them. "We're just s—scared!"

"Sacred? Did you think of that when you invaded the town? You all seemed pretty happy when your boss was still around, hurting old people and threatening the rest? Where is that smile now?" Metal Bat hefted the rat into air and raised his bat over the bandit. "Where's the smile now!"

"Stop!"

All heads spun to a dog bandit, laying his jacket on the lap of the surprised Barkeep with an apology lost to the winds. The dog bandit was old, that much was visible from his whitening hairs and pale fur on his ears. "Stop. I know we deserve this, but please…just stop."

Metal Bat lowered his weapon and fixed the elderly dog with an impatient look.

"We hurt a lot of good folk in the past couple of years. That much is certain. We come down here to Rimeditch ever winter, trying to force out a little bit more. I can't deny that. But…just let those kids go, okay." The dog pointed towards the rat in Metal Bat's hands. "If your gonna pound anyone, do me. I was the bastard who kept telling Boulder to come down here anyway."

"Why?" cried one of the villagers. "Why? We don't have anything to give you. We barely have enough for ourselves."

"I know that! I know that. But I don't know where else to go. We have to hand something to Rex for the winter, or he'll just start raiding our towns too. We—we don't know what else to do." Covering his face in shame, the dog bit back a sob. "And somewhere in the middle it all, we started hurting folk. We started laughing at hurt folk. Just because we wanted to feel in control of something…oh gods damn us that's no excuse. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." There was no holding back anymore, the old dog crumpled to his knees and began to sob.

Sighing to himself, Metal Bat let the rat drop and laid his bat across his shoulder. Walking over towards the weeping dog bandit, several of the other bandits stood up and tried getting in the way but withered at the last second before the approach of Metal Bat. Kneeling down right in front of the crying mess of a bandit, Metal Bat planted his weapon into the dirt and placed his elbows on his knees. "You know I heard this story a couple times before right. Gangs forming to pay off bigger gangs for the sake of their homes. Happens everywhere so you aren't that special, dog-man."

Sniffling slightly and suppressing a whimper, the dog looked up at Metal Bat with bloodshot eyes. "S-sss—"

"Shut up." There was no malice in the way Metal Bat said that, unlike before. His face was blank and almost on the verge of sympathy. "There is no excuse for abusing people. But you know that." Sighing, Metal Bat shook his head. "Who is this Rex asshole anyway? Why're the fear?"

Wiping away the rest of the tears, the dog cleared his throat. "You don't know? Rex is the most wanted bandit in Menagerie. He's hit banks. Blown up offices in terror attacks. He's willing to do anything. For a price. Right now, he's building an empire on this side of Menagerie, and that's why no one has anything left. He's siphoning all the wealth and materials off into his operations to create a new capital. Says that once he gains enough control, he'll storm the beach-side and take it, and no one will stand in his way. Not the White Fang. Not Ghira Belladonna. Nobody."

Metal Bat contemplated the information for a minute, and gave the rest of the heroes a look. "Oi? You guys willing to make a slight detour?"

A mixture of unresponsiveness and presumable agreement answered him. Metal Bat fought the urge to face-palm. Horse-bone just giggled his head a little, expression unreadable as always. King glared and made a single agreeable huff. At least, Metal Bat thought it was an agreeable huff. Mumen Rider was still too busy patching up the now smiling Barkeep and being swarmed by his grateful daughters to notice.

It was as much of a yes as he was going to get.

"So…if we go over and take out this Rex guy, this place will return to normal."

"It would certainly be a start," interjected the mayor of the town, an elderly elephant-man with a cheap and tattered suit. "Trade might return to normal once his stranglehold over the bridges and tolls are removed."

"But it's impossible," continued the dog, "he has an army."

Metal Bat was unimpressed. "How many people does he have in this army?"

"I don't know now but last time I checked he had dozens of enforcers working for him and each of them had hundreds of underlings. Thousands maybe."

"That's it? Okay. Let's go."

"What?" the dog seemed surprised. "Wait, let's go?"

"I need someone to lead us around here. It's not like we know where we are. You have to get us over to this Rex guy before we can get rid of him."

"Just like that? You guys aren't even going to rest here?"

"What? No! We're in a hurry. I have a piano recital to go back and watch."

Most the town and the bandits looked at Metal Bat as if he were insane. Pulling his bat out the dirt, the grinning hero offered the old dog a hand up. "What's your name. I don't want to keep thinking of you as dog-man."

"Snoopes."

"Snoopes? Sheesh, that's a weird name. Alright Snoopes. Let's go. Oh wait."

Pointing his bat at the rest of the bandits, each stumbling and falling backwards as Metal Bat's gaze swept across them in its murderous glare, he made certain that the town would remain standing while they were gone. "We're gonna go kick Rex's teeth in now. You shit-heels better not do anything stupid while we're gone, otherwise this!" Metal Bat shook his weapon causing the bandits to yelp in horror and toppled over in terror, "This! Will be back to greet you personally. In fact, you best stick around here and keep the townspeople happy. Do that! Or I'll be mad!"

Done with the threats, Metal Bat's brushed his hair back into shape and addressed the townsfolk. "So…they shouldn't bother you guys now. Uh…have a nice day. Keep warm and stuff, okay. Later."

There just wasn't an appropriate response to that.

"Alright," Metal Bat said waving for the rest of the heroes to follow. Mumen Rider especially found it quite difficult to part as he was besieged by goodbyes and requests for him to come back and visit by the Barkeep and his wife and daughters. "Let's get out of here…hmmm."

A massive rusted but still rumbling truck stood around the corner of town behind the haberdashery. It was a crudely built beast with metal plating, several engines running on the back, and horns carved into the steel. It was perfect. "Snoopes. That's your dead boss's truck right?"

"Y-yes."

"Where are the keys."

Snoops pointed at Metal Bat's jacket. Reaching into the pocket, Metal Bat pulled out a key chain with several horn shaped keys. "Pssft. Unoriginal bastard. I get it. You're a rhino."

Shaking his head, Metal Bat twirled the keys in his hands as the rest of his companions followed in his steps.

"Uh, boss," Snoopes said to Metal Bat. "I know it ain't my place but it's getting real cold out here and I'd like to get on the truck. Standing in my drawers here."

Metal Bat didn't seem to hear him. He just kept looking at the truck and smiling.

A short road trip later, Menagerie would never be the same again.


	18. Escalation IV: Hospital

_Author's Note: Owning is not a thing I do. Suing I hope they not do._

 _Just want to give thanks to everyone reading on so far. Please continue with whatever it is your doing: criticism-constructive or angry-enjoyment; rage; even burning small voodoo dolls that might look like me. And as always, feel free to deliver whatever demands you wish. See if I can fit them into the schemes that have weaved._

 _Oh, and on another note: new format! Instead of one giant dump a month, the new deal being attempted is less words, but punctual stuff per day or so. See how that works. Well, that's all. Have a happy new year for now._

Escalation IV:

Hospital

The revelry unfolding across the city was an inappropriate soundtrack for Robin. Alone and sitting against a pillow far too large for her, trying to peer out a window that seemed just a tad too tall for her. There was a lethargy to her; a sluggishness. Like nothing mattered. And perhaps she was right. Her world, once fresh and free, was now naught but ash and blackened wood. Not even bodies remained.

Not that keeping the bodies of her parents would have left her with comfort. Dead was dead. Dad told her that a long time ago.

There she was: a orphan on a hospital bed, watching the city, waiting for nothing.

Thankfully, Genos was substantially quicker.

Towards the ongoing festival unfolding across the residential district, Genos departed from Beacon. He was a glimmering blur descending on Vale, and just behind him a peculiar girl trailed after him with excited and unnaturally bouncy steps. Into streets packed with floats of vibrant colors, decorated with inflated heads of renown hunters, celebrities, or symbols while carrying dancers and singers in carriages, Genos and Penny evaded sight by taking the high path onto the roofs. Meanwhile, the people below continued to indulge in song and joy uninhibited. It seemed as if the people had completely forgotten of the catastrophe of the warship just a few days ago with the way they were enjoying themselves so carelessly now, prancing through the streets carefree.

However, they certainly didn't forget about their newly revealed savior. Arching an eyebrow as he passed by a float of astounding size, Genos found himself quite perturbed when he discovered that at the front of said float, a completely faithful replication of his frowning face was vanguard to the rolling stage, with several cosplayers dressed like him dancing atop. Nonetheless, his surprise would not slow him, and he sped forth deeper into the district.

It was obvious that the entire city was alive with celebration, and nowhere else was this more obvious than the residential districts. Atop roofs of varying tiles and windows that only offered a narrow glance into the intimately decorated homes within, Genos and Penny darted beside rising balloons of varying shape and size, passing raucous cheers that seemed to go along with the rhythm of the euphonious musics that synchronized in genre and style seamlessly as artists plied their crafted atop their float stages above the city. So enraptured with their own celebration that the people hardly noticed the two mechanical wonders gracing their rooftops.

The roar of his thrust drowned out by the loudness of the parade below, Genos launched himself into air and found what he was looking for: The Vale Guardians Wellness Center, place for wounded Hunters and sick civilians alike.

Just across from the commercial district, separated by a floating river, it stood as the single largest structure in the horizon besides Big John's Supermall. A square block of stone and glass, it seemed something of a cube-like bunker than any hospital. But considering the conditions of Remnant, this was likely a deliberate choice.

Normally, it would take a car approximately ten minutes to get to the hospital. In the simmering chaos, still being uncorked in this mist-touched haze, the festival would stall traffic dead to an hour. It took Genos thirty seconds to land right outside the front door. Another thirty later, Penny stumbled to a halt as her blades sank back into her back and gave the carter she made a small glance. "I'm going to include thrusters as one of my proposals for new upgrades. Yours are fast."

Being the stolid, singular cyborg that he was, Genos didn't reply. He shoved open the door and wandered into the hospital.

The room was wide and blindingly color white, with a young receptionist with a delightful red bonnet sitting in middle of it behind a rather large block-shaped desk that looked to be made of black marble. Just behind here were a series of elevators. The windows to the room were massive in length and girth, capturing the full rays of the sun and the passing of the parades behind them. Towards on side of the room, a group of civilians waited in line before a window counter. Towards the other, military personnel and Hunters freely moved to what seemed to be a constantly revolving coverer belt of platforms bringing groups of five upwards at a time.

"Good morning," the young receptionist said giving him a striking smile as she adjusted her auburn locks out of eyes. Beside her eye-catching bonnet, her dressed seemed to be the very model of a nurse's uniform. "Are you here as a Hun—oh. Oh." Her words bunched up and grew slower as her eyes opened. She wasn't the only one; other eye in the room were also drawn to the sight of Genos.

"Greetings," said Genos, "I am here to see a patient."

"I—uh—yes! What is this patient's name?" The receptionist immediately got to hammering away at the keys on her screen, spewing out a line of gibberish before deleting all in equal haste.

"Genos! That's Genos!" cried some of the other civilians.

"He's real. He's actually real!"

"I told you."

"How did he take out that entire out that entire warship?"

"Robin," Genos said, ignoring the commotion he was generating. Penny, on the other hand, captured some cream from the hand sanitizer and rubbed her hand together; even androids could get dirty. She then proceeded to clean Genos's hands for him as well. He decided that it was not worth asking her what she was doing.

"Robin." The receptionist pulled her bonnet back on top her head. "Yes! Of course! Umm…do you have last name to go with Robin?"

Genos shook his head. "Atlas medics took her in. They told me that she would receive special care."

That narrowed the details down substantially. "Got it! She's on the fifth floor, intensive care ward. Go right alon—wait—oh, go! I shouldn't keep you! Wait I…agh!" She laughed nervously, wiping away a thin sheen of sweat emerging on her forehead. It was clear that she wanted something. "Can you just…sign my hat?"

Genos was taken aback. "What? Your hat?"

"Y-yes," the receptionist said, voice growing a bit uncertain as all eyes present in the lobby where now aimed at Genos. "Do…do you not like this hat? I have two hundred different ones. More styles than bonnets. Here." She pulled a raspberry beret from beneath the desk. It was the type you would find at a second-hand store.

It was at that moment that Genos realized that he now had fans in this world too. "Very well," Genos said, giving no hint to his exacerbation at being unable to avoid the mayhem of fandom. If he signed quickly perhaps he could be on his way. Reaching out and taking a pen from the desk, he quickly left the strokes to his name inscribed on both her hats while she was blinking. When her eyes opened again, her wish had come true.

"Oh thankyouthankyouthank!" She stood up to give him hug but stopped at his stiffness. "I…ahem. My sister…is going to be so jealous. You saved her life yesterday you know! This is…wonderful."

Genos nodded: his typical response to overflowing glee that he just didn't understand.

"Sign mine too," roared a hairy man pulling off part of his beard.

"This," squealed a still bandaged hunter waving his shotgun, "this."

A rip was heard and a large lion Faunus pushed through the crowd waving his torn knickers at Genos. "Marry me!"

Covering in her mouth in realization of the chaos she just unleashed, the receptionist shot an apologetic look at Genos. "Elevator. Right behind me. Door opening. Press five. Thank you so much."

Wasting no time, Genos walked right past her desk as she slid into her chair dreamily blinking to herself. Like a mob of flesh-seeking beasts, the rest quickly surged after Genos and Penny, as the elevator closed in the nick of time.

"Approximately thirty percent of that mob was interested in you sexually," Penny declared with far too much cheer. "Should we inform them that intercourse with you is an impossibility?"

The fifth floor was gloriously close; it was a testament to Genos's willpower that he had just pushed through the foundations of the building and relieved himself of the tribulations brought on by his newly bestowed fame. In an odd way, he quite envied his master's missing popularity. It allowed Saitama to lead a mostly mundane life while still being a hero. No matter. He is beyond the touch of harassment now. It wouldn't be long until he could fulfill his promise now.

Of course, Genos's relief was quickly crushed as the doors opened.

"Autographs!" roared patients and doctors alike standing in rows as if a firing squad aimed at Genos's iron-plated patience. It seemed that someone monitoring the cameras had warned them of his imminent arrival. Penny, seizing the chance to make things worse by trying to do better, quickly pointed down at Genos's groin. "He lacks the organs to procreate with you. Thirty percent of you can leave now."

A moment of shock—entirely occupied by deep internal screams inside Genos, who continued to give no hint to his great agony—ensued. In the next few minutes, thirty percent of the group did not leave. In fact, none of them did. They just kept standing there waving their random utensils and patched injuries at him to spread his name on.

"Let him through."

The clamoring stopped. "Doctor Shack?" Asked a rather Doe-eyed male nurse, who had been confused by numerous hate groups as a Faunus on numerous occasions. To be fair to the hate groups, his eyes were pretty damn doe-like.

The bearded white haired doctor gave the nurse a look reserved for people who lack major portions of their brains. He walked with slight limp in his right leg, using a cane to keep his balance. He wore a obviously expensive but extremely poorly maintained waistcoat underneath his doctor's jacket and continued his mishmash of fashion by matching that with jeans and sneakers. "I'm sure I didn't stutter. Nor did my intonation hint at a question. So, where does that leave us? This sentence, just so you know, is a question. A rhetorical one, but please respond, Deer. You're going to do it anyway."

The nurse dubbed Deer was actually called Will De Gruat, and he was born into a relatively well to do family on the other end of Vale, where the upper class lived. Unfortunately, thanks to Dr. Shack's penchant for insults and nicknaming, absolutely no one in Vale General's intensive care ward knew each other by their real names.

Dr. Shack was someone most people called a dick. Personally, he always felt like more of an asshole.

"Sir?"

"There's the expected answer and expression," Dr. Shack mockingly clapped, "well done, Deer! Keep on staring. All of you, keep on staring."

And true to his word, that's exactly what they did.

Giving Genos an unimpressed look, Dr. Shack lifted his cane and waved the cyborg along. "Figure you have somewhere to be right now. Unless you actually like walking through hospitals for kicks. In that case, Atlas Remedial Recovery is some five thousand kilometers that way. Little squirts in the other room at the where that window is. I'm sure your fancy eyes already locked onto her through the walls and I'm just wasting my breath right now. Go along. Hurry. Hurry."

This is where Genos usually nodded. However, considering the perplexing nature of this man, Genos was uncertain if he should thank the doctor or simply ignore him. Genos settled for lowering his head but not rising that; a half nod would do for now.

"Thank you," said Penny as she followed along. Dr. Shack didn't even bother looking at her as he approached the rest of the intensive care ward

"Remember when there were sick and injured people in here?" Dr. Shack asked, directing a very blunt question towards the few wounded Atlas soldiers who managed to stumble out of their cots and the many medical personnel present. "I think I do. Then again, it could be my pills acting up again so I never know. Could have sworn tubby over there was supposed to administer morphine to someone but hey, that's the kind of stuff that can wait even if it's not halluncinated, right?"

On cue, a series of blood-curdling screams tore through the emergency room. A slightly cubby doctor-in-training quickly bolted towards the screams.

"Well, that's surprising," Dr. Shack chuckled, "If more people screamed for him then maybe he could've made his dad proud on the two-hundred-meter dash. Ah. What an optimist I am: his dad would still hate him for being fat. People. This is a hospital. People pay good money to get healed here. So, let's try to keep the casualties of our general screw-ups of 'misdiagnosis, operating error, or incurable illness' to a minimum, shall we. Gross negligence just doesn't have the same charm the other mistakes have."

As the belittling continued outside, Robin's room proved to be a sanctuary from the noise and chaos unfolding all around. Dulled noises of uproarious celebration from the outside were barely smuggled through the thickness of the walls. It was a muted noise of joy, that went along with the image of Robin as a broken girl staring at the joy of city that didn't know, or even care about her plight.

Then, all of a sudden, her small bubble of solitude popped with the opening of a door.

"Salutations." Starting with a smile was Penny's forte. Then again, it was essentially the only form of greeting she knew how to commence. Beside her, Genos kept his eyes on Robin, waiting for her to make the first move, unsure of how to initiate this coversation. "It's good to see you again."

One second. Two. Three. And then four. The silence lingered and found a place to stay in the room, with every tick of the clock giving it more power.

"The city isn't built even," said Robin. "The parade is going to the other part of the city. It looks like that part of the city used to be a series of hills."

"Is…that so," Genos asked. Slowly, tentatively, he approached her and looked out the window along with her. Indeed, she wasn't wrong, the way the parade bounced up and down the roads did seem to support her claims. But the incline of the road and the downward curves of the streets were hardly noticeable by normal unaugmented human eyes.

Aura. Semblance perhaps. But could one so young possess such abilities already.

"Yep. Daddy used to pave roads for a living. Said that you could tell the history of city by how the streets were. Before stone was dirt, and before the buildings there were hills or plains. He liked to plains. That's why we lived in a small town."

Genos lowered his head and frowned. What was he supposed to say to her. "I…too…grew up in a village."

"You did?" Robin asked. "I didn't know robots had villages."

"I wasn't always a machine."

Her eyes widened. "You weren't?"

Genos shook his head. "No. Not at all."


	19. Escalation V: Wisdom of the Two Mounds

_Author's Note: Owne notum lay. Sueum emum-lay._

Escalation V:

Wisdom of the Two Mounds: Second Form

Bruised, battered, blistered, dirtied, and generally looking like a poster advocating against child abuse, the students of the abnormal combat class left the field in low spirits and spent bodies, limping towards their professors on the hill they were supposed to get to. From atop said hill, it seemed as if rows of dirt golems had decided to approach in mass.

"They're going to smell just wonderful when they get right up to us," Qrow said, pulling out an air freshener from his side pocket and firing quick blasts all around him.

Ironwood coughed as a bit of the spray got into his mouth and frowned. "I see aiming isn't something you like to do either. Why do you even have that?"

"What? This? Well the rest of us plebeians don't exactly have the luxury of a flying fortress with a bathroom. Sometimes, we get in a hurry and gotta without a shower. Hence, air freshener."

"Makes sense," Saitama said. "But you should always make up for missing baths. Dirt and stuff gets stuck under your skin in places that gets harder and harder to wash the longer you let it stay uncleaned."

"I see that my words are being misrepresented again," Ironwood said. "I didn't say that we don't need air freshener. I was just asking why Qrow had air freshener on him."

"Oh," Saitama said. Thinking to himself, Saitama struggled to came up with an adequate response. "If you've been to Qrow's house, you would understand why he would need freshener."

Images of disgusting hovels designed to torture neat freaks into confessing intel broke into Ironwood's mind. A citadel of filth and garbage shot up to the heavens with Qrow standing on top, surfing the trash all the way into the sky. Ironwood accepted Saitama's answer. It fit his image of Qrow.

"Uh, professors?" Ruby asked, waving at the three distracted lecturers oblivious to the students already gathered before them at the bottom of the hill.

Stepping forth to give the students their attention, Ironwood moved forward at the same time Qrow did causing their eyes to meet in an electrifying stare down as to who's foot would reach the grass first. They both ended up stepping on Saitama's foot and quickly ended up pulling their feet back in remembrance that he is indeed the head lecturer. What quickly ensued was a brief skirmish of stomps and shuffles as both Qrow and Ironwood fought to place Saitama before themselves but to blockade their rival from taking the position right behind him. Grass and clumps of dirt hit Saitama in the back of the head as Qrow and Ironwood's tap dance for domination grew more and more heated.

From the students' perspective below the hill, clouded by limited perception and growing confusion, it looked as if Saitama was growing hair from the dirt while the other two attempted to beat an ant-hill or something to death.

"Just stand in a line guys," Saitama grumbled, swatting another blast of earth out of his face. "This position thing is childish." Reaching out, he swept his arms and moved both Qrow and Ironwood to his sides. Finally, they stood there, adjusting ties, pulling collars, drinking, completely ready to face the students, who had already spent long minutes watching the scuffle.

"So," Ironwood said, arms behind his back like a leader addressing his troops, "all in all, you did good."

A series of scoffs and groans was the collective response of the students, clearly not buying his words. "We died. We died horribly," said Weiss, nursing a growing bump on her head.

"Sometimes that's unavoidable," Ironwood agreed, eyeing Saitama, "this is probably one of those cases. But the purpose of this is for you all to understand that sometimes you need to come together if you want to survive as proven with those of you that moved and acted as a team. Head lecturer, anything you would like to add?"

Stumbling as if the Ironwood had outright shoved him into the spotlight with his words, Saitama found himself once again beset upon by the hungry desperate eyes of the students, ravenous and salivating for knowledge. Far unchained from Saitama's internal perception back in reality, the students merely wanted to get out from under the blazing sun and back to their dorms. "Thank you Gener—Ironwood—also lecturer Ironwood. Uh…first does anyone have any questions?"

A single arm shot up in the back row: Pyrrha's. "Yes," Saitama said, "…you."

"Pyrrha, head lecturer," Pyrrha said helpfully, "I just have a question. I'm sorry if this seems foolish to you or if I'm just not understanding what is obvious but…how does this lesson correlate with our last one?"

"What?"

Murmurs of agreement chorused through the students. "We learned about the—the power of cleavage—"

"Cleavage," roared Nora, interrupting everyone present as she pulled of bit of pancake out from her bust and began to devour it vigorously.

"What is that student eating?" Ironwood asked narrowing her eyes. "Is that a pancake?" Suddenly, his mind stopped and took a sudden turn. "Wait. Did they just say cleavage? Cleavage?"

Smirking at Nora's outburst with subdued amusement while Jaune hid his face from the rest of the staring students, Pyrrha continued. "Though your statements on cleavage were a…novel way of motivating us, we don't understand how our classes are connecte—"

"It's a mess!" clarified Yang. "Last week you tell us about cleavage! Now you hit us with a bombing! Did you plan any of this or are you guys making things up as you go along?"

Hairs immediately stiffened along Saitama's neck as he froze before the questioning. Faced with few other alternatives, Saitama retreated within to consult his council of internal Saitamas to come up with a plan to survive the onslaught of needy students.

Bursting into existence upon his left shoulder, Selfish Saitama scoffed at the kids. "So...uh...run away really fast. You can do it. No one can stop you."

Saitama thought about Ironwood and Qrow. Though they were confusing, and bickered all the time, and constantly getting him involved in things that he had to punch, and generally spoke more at his bald spot than directly at him, his conscience still couldn't bear the weight of leaving them to rot.

Speaking of consciences, Justice Saitama appeared. "Maybe we should let these kids know that you're really just making stuff up as you go along. They might under—"

Selfish Saitama sucker punched his other manifestation in the gut and began brawling with him. Saitama flowed the two miniature forms of themselves as they fought and tumbled through the air.

"Why are they saying cleavage over and over again?" Ironwood asked. "Just what did you two teach these students last class. Answer me," Ironwood's tone took a turn for the desperate as the students began to mutter cleavage amongst each other some more. Meanwhile, Saitama's eyes darted around tracking an imaginary battle. "What's going on here? And just what are you looking at?

Back in Saitama's world, as the brawl between Justice and Selfish Saitamas grew fierce, a third form burst into existence somewhere off to the side. It was his second-grade teacher Ms. Tanaka. She still wore those absurdly tall heels and far too revealing purple dress that made parents feel uncomfortable, and didn't look a day over thirty. Smiling that fake smile of hers she waved at Saitama. "Hi-yo Saitama! I know you're lost right now and have no clue what you're doing but I just want you to know that I didn't either. I just made stuff up when we were doing math and since you were all so young at the time and I was your teacher, you believed me. The point is: make something up, Saitama and—" by this point Saitama had stopped listening and started looking down at her open cleavage while inquisitively scratching his head.

Within moments, inspiration struck him, thanks to two very large reasons that quickly faded along with all his mental manifestations.

Saitama shed off his skin of uncertainty and confusion to blossom into a new and sage master. An expression of zen came over him as he clenched his fist before the students. "Your difficulty in understanding the ineffable aspects of the way of cleavage is understandable." Ironwood grimaced at the poor construction of Saitama's words.

"But! This is why we are here," unmaking his fist, it seemed that Saitama released a chokehold on the air around him as a gust of wind rushed through all those present, "to guide you in unlocking the true power of your cleavages."

Below, the students were entranced with his words, either due to the sheer conviction he had in pushing them out her lips, or out of disbelief that they could understand the noises that his mouth was making.

"You see, the second lesson of cleavage is…is…is…" his eyes darted around as he held his zen-face as hard as he could, blinking furiously at Qrow to help him. Needing inspiration, Qrow sighed and downed the rest of his flask before stepping forth and saying the first thing that came to mind.

"There's two of it!" Qrow declared loudly, causing everyone present—especially Saitama—to direct odd looks at him. "Two big things that really matter."

"What are you two doing?" Ironwood breathed in horror and growing befuddlement.

Shaking his own confusion off, Saitama quickly fed off the energy of Qrow and lead into his own random saying. "Yes! Two. We have all seen cleavage. There are two. And a line in the middle! And….and you are all that line!"

"We are that line?" Blake said, all too quietly trying to convince herself that she hadn't fallen into some badly written book.

"It's is because there are two sides to cleavage that the line exists and remains defensible. General Ironwood says yes!"

Ironwood stumbled back at the blatant lie of a statement. "What? I—"

Saitama and Qrow grabbed him by his arms and pulled them high into the air in a mock display of cheering. "Yes!" they declared in unison, making sure their voices drown out Ironwood's.

"With my attack from the front," Saitama said pointing at the students.

"And my barrages taking you everywhere else," Qrow added.

"You were overwhelmed." The way that Saitama swiped his hand through the air split the tree behind him in half. "But, if you were to become your cleavage…"

Qrow coughed twice and tried to continue awkwardly, "If you were to…dammit…have two sides?"

"Then you would have succeeded at today's task," Saitama finished.

Whipping his face from Saitama to Qrow, Ironwood glared at the two as if they had gone completely mad. To say that the students' themselves were stunned as well was an understatement as well. Dozens of expressionless frozen faces just looking up at Saitama as he shuffled around awkwardly, pulling his hoodie down to hide his belly button.

"So what you're saying is that we could have won this, if we created two rows of phalanxes by combining all our teams together and allowing the fasts of us run down in the middle while the rest held the line? Like, in the shape of the cleavage?" Ren asked, still not sure what the hell he had just heard.

Pride. That was the look that Saitama decided to try on. Unfortunately, he added too much intensity which made him resemble a disturbed defiler of small animals instead. "Exactly. Good job. The students learned quick today, right Ironwood?"

By this point, Ironwood wasn't even confused anymore. He was just done with the whole situation. Adopting an empty glare that hinted at an aftershock to come, Ironwood cleared his throat. "Sure. Good work today students. Remember to train and reinforce…whatever it is that we went over in class today. Your all dismissed."

Looking to each other with how sudden the class had ended; shrugs and movement began anew. One by one, teams left the field to head back to their dorms to take much-needed showers and respite.

As the crowd before them dispersed, Ironwood jabbed a finger towards his cohorts. "We need to talk." He bit his bottom lip as he waited for the rest of the students to drift off.

"Cleavage?" It sounded more like a accusation than a question

"Cleavage." Qrow sounded like he couldn't believe he was saying the word either.

"Cleavage. Cleavage! Cleavage?"

"Cleavage," agreed Saitama.

"Cleavage," announced Ironwood in faltering exasperation. "I-why?"

"We had to come up with something," said Saitama

"I was just making stuff with him. Was drunk too," chuckled Qrow at the same time.

The way Ironwood looked at them could be be replicated by pretending someone had ducks growing out their eyes. Suddenly, a stray, almost threatening thought peer at Ironwood through his mind's eye. It was a thought so dangerous, so powerful, so consuming that Ironwood simply had to swallow. A certain someone burrowed deep into Ironwood's mind; her scowl fitting so well with her glasses and riding crop looking oh so enticing. Cleavage. Ironwood found himself with a clue regarding his question: "why cleavage." Who else would strike such a speech into existence.

"Glynda?" the words came out with a heavy sub-tone of fear and paranoia to the possibility of her presence.

Eyes flickering around their surrounding on the lookout for the subject of the question, Qrow sighed. "Sort of."

"That," Ironwood said, bringing the index finger of his gloved hand to bear under Qrow's chin to bear, "is insulting, revolting, and completely disrespectful of Professor Goodwitch."

Snorting, Qrow regarded Ironwood with a raised eyebrow. "We weren't have an entire class composing odes to her _blouse-hole, Jimmy._ It was...an inspiration. The rest just popped in with desperation. And besides, it seems that you manage to come to a similar conclusion without too much help, which makes me wonder where your mind is wandering, General."

Once again, the two bridged a glare.

"Guys," Saitama said, frowning at his squabbling colleagues again. "stop looking at each other like that. I told you it makes you two look weird. The students will start making weird stuff up about us if we keep doing this."

"They're already talking." the glare-bridge collapsed as a freight train carrying a army of Glynda's drove over. Her voice was crisp and clear like a rumble of thunder that would whip students over the back of their heads if they weren't listening. Pulling away from each other as cold sweat began to trail down both their foreheads, Qrow and Ironwood switched between several poses that bleed nonchalance, switching each time they realized they were sharing a pose.

Not ten meters from the hill, where Gladius Hall-one of the older building of the academy, made of rusting steel and reinforced glass back during the time of the war-was, Glynda stood with her fists on her hip as rivers of students collided into anarchy as they streamed towards their next ponds to settle in for class. "Lecturers, I advise you to keep class conduct standard and circumspect, unless you want your students to continue to distort their perceptions and regard for you as instructors." With a flick of her crop, a piece of paper flew out of her pocket to elaborate on her words. Landing in Saitama's hand, he unfolded the paper as Ironwood and Qrow poked their heads in for a closer look.

A choking sound died somewhere in Saitama's throat as one of his eyes started twitching and his veins bulged. Ironwood recoiled as horror and disgust grew on his face. Qrow's expression of disappointment was far more subdued; alcohol went down in throat in a deluge as he pulled out another flask to supplement the first.

On the paper were each of the lecturers of the Abnormal Combat course, each laying across each other, in the nude, with Saitama's occupying the middle. Hands far to delicate to be Qrow's trailed down to cover Saitama's no-no place while a face far too perfect to be Qrow's looked deeply into Ironwood's in a expression of love. A equal amount of artistic liberty was taken with Ironwood, looking considerably slimmer and _genuinely happy_ to be running his one still gloved hand down Qrow's neck. Meanwhile, Saitama's features remained relatively unembellished. He was still bald, with reasonably accurate anatomy of musculature and body size. The only thing, the most disturbing thing, was where his hands where placed: atop both Ironwood and Qrow's _under-pipes._ The smug expression on his face quickly took new meaning.

Letting the paper slip out of his hands and relinquishing travesty to the wind, Saitama looked out a thousand miles at a distant shore he would never see. Meanwhile, both Qrow and Ironwood pulled out their guns and blasted the quivering paper to pieces.

"That's not going to do anything," Glynda said, the curve on the very edge of lips hinting at a well-hidden amusement. "There are substantially more versions than just that one. There was a veritable treasure trove of a art collection from the student who I confiscated this from. A word of advice: you all should try to quell this behavior before it takes hold entirely. Once all the students have...experienced these alternative presentations of your persons, they might not see you all in the same way." Like a villain finished with her gloating, Glynda retreated into the mess of students, leaving the three lecturers to gaze off into the distance together.

They stood there, for several seconds in complete silence. Then Saitama turned his head. "This is why you guys shouldn't look at each other like that."


	20. Escalation VI: Alone

_Author's N: No own. No sue. A bit shorter, but still a chapter. Carry on._

Escalation VI:

Alone

"…and since my family was poor, the wooden foundations for our small house was of terrible quality so I was even more resigned to my certain death as if I didn't perish from my injuries or starve the roof would eventually come down and pulverize my body as I lay trapped beneath my family, forcing me to suffer the indignity of watching their corpses become disfigured in death as well—"

"Genos," Penny interrupted again, systems telling her a bit of concern should be in order, "perhaps this part should be skipped as well. I am detecting a rise in Robin's pulse."

The small girl, chewed on the bottom of her lips as she forced down another intrusion of bad memories from bringing her down. Mother always said that what rules the landscape of her mind would rule her in turn lest she learn to master it first. "You're not very good at telling stories."

Such a blunt statement from a girl so young cut Genos to the quick of his ego; time after time of being told that you are utterly incapable of telling stories at any respectable caliber had an effect at diminishing your esteem. "I suppose I will be less thorough on the details regarding my origin."

"That would be best," Robin added. Try as she might, she couldn't quite speak without the rock in her throat making itself known. Far too weak was she to stop the memories, and neither could she still the noise in her mind. Alone in a room with strangers, Robin found herself an adrift in herself, being pulled further off into the lure of the city despite Genos's attempts to relate.

Glowering at the bedsheets, Genos found himself angered by her despondence, and sinking into a depression of his own. He was once again, like he was so many times, helpless to defend another. This time from themselves. If he could not offer on so suffering losses so alike to his the barest bit of comfort, then what good was he as a hero?

For all the power of his core, for all the wrath that his incinerators unleashed, if he could not protect Robin, how was he to consider himself a hero, rather than a weapon; something more alike to Metal Knight in his single-minded pursuit of more power to destroy above all else. Being a hero was all he had left. There wasn't enough flesh on him to pretend to be a boy, and not much intention nor time directed at anything else. Genos was lost: what was he to do?

Noticing contagious sullenness spreading through the room, Penny analyzed her options tried establish a line of dialogue that she could utilize to restore normalcy to the room. There was a sixty percent chance of her words meeting continued silence, twenty percent possibility of Robin being reduced to tears if she had Genos continue his backstory, ten percent likelihood of Genos just leaving the room if she tried to amuse Robin with interesting facts like how Genos lacked genitals for example, and another ten that Genos might just continue talking at Robin to minimal effect.

"We changed the bedsheets."

Entering the room as the door shut behind him, holding a bag of chips stood Dr. Shack bearing a satisfied look as the rest of the intensive ward shuffled around to attend to their duties, finally coerced back into work, with most of them holding downcast expressions and a few openly crying. "Don't mind the rest of them. They're just sensitive. Getting chewed out has a way of bringing out what's deepest inside you. Usually that's tears or depression but, hey, you never know what you might get."

Standing up, Genos frowned at Dr. Shack. "What—"

"Shhh," the Doctor held out two fingers to silence Genos. "Got to tell our littlest patient a joke here first. You ready?"

Uncertain for what the Doctor seemed to be playing at, Robin just nodded. She wasn't sure what else she could do anyway.

"Knock knock." Genos didn't like the tone Dr. Shack spoke in.

"W-who's there?"

Dr Shack drew in close, making sure there was simply no chance that Robin could miss his next words, "Not your parents. They're dead."

If it was possible for silence to sound like it got punched in the gut, all ears present in that small room would have heard it. For a few long seconds, Robin existed in a stasis, her mind trying to catch up to what she just heard. Meanwhile, her eyes grew misty.

Likewise, it took a few long seconds for even Penny to register the words, being the last she anticipated to come out the Doctor's mouth. "That," Penny said, sounding completely shocked, "was entirely inappropriate. You should apologize." She tried to deploy a glare on him but found herself lacking practice and data on how her facial fibers should move.

"You're entirely right, that was far too mean of me," Dr. Shack said, "I shouldn't have brought up the fact that her parents are dead and, with no possibility barring the sudden discovery of resurrection, which would be difficult too depending on the state their corpses are in, will be able to tell her how much they care—or don't, I don't know if they were abusive or not—about her again. So, I'm sorry."

Aflame were Genos's eyes, rising wisps of heat escaping from the barest gaps between his fists despite how tightly he clenched them. Almost unconsciously, Genos's glared with more than his eyes, body flaring bright white with heat as lines of power leading from his core across the rest of his body grew with his ire.

Then, after a phenomenal effort later, a sob. The first tear snapped away like a glacier from Robin's sorrow-filled expression, dropping like an anvil onto the bed. The second fell substantially quicker, almost beating the first to the sheets. Then came the fourth. The fifth. The rest were uncountable as a rain began, as did her attempts to cover her hurt from the rest of the room. She was very big to begin with, but the way she curled into herself, trying to cage the sickness welling up from within her made her all too small for Genos to bear.

"Bastard," Genos said grabbing a fistful of collar and bringing Shack closer. The older man gave no fear, and show no concern. Placing the last chip into his mouth, he began to chew without any remorse.

"Well you weren't doing a whole lot better with your delightful descriptions of how your poor families' corpses decorated your terrible cracked wooden floors, cracked before it was even destroyed in an attack by the rampaging machine because you were all poor. Did you mention you were poor? I think you did." Shack inched his head just a bit past Genos, where he could see Robin's shivering form, unresponsive to Penny's awkward petting. "Also the fact that your family is dead too!"

The cracking of glass accompanied a silent snarl, as Genos pushed Shack's back into the door, cracking the window in several places. Wincing, Shack smirked. "Now it's easy. Go hug her or something."

"What?" Genos asked, voice dangerously low.

Shack rolled his eyes. "It was a real struggle watching you butcher your way through that backstory of yours through the door. Kid was bound to break down sooner or later once you hit an emotional landmine, so guess who was nice enough to give you a hand by blowing all the little jerks up at the same time. You're welcome."

Ire giving way to disbelief, Genos loosened his grip ever so slightly. "What?"

"You're making me wonder how slow you were still human. Seems that your metal parts didn't help your brain much anyway. I. Help. You. Bad. Talky. Now. Hug. Girl. Cry. Get?"

Lowering Shack back down, Genos still had a fire in his eyes that threatened to make a comeback in seconds. "That…you…regardless of your intentions, you hurt her."

"Yep. Why'd you let me do that? You could have shoved me out of the room, or hit me, or even covered her ears for her before I finished," Shack savored the moment with the dumb look that Genos was giving him. "Probably caused irreparable damage somewhere down inside her head. Hopefully she develops a bit of cynicism for the future."

Genos jaw hung limp as the Doctor grew even more incomprehensible.

Shaking his head, Dr. Shack patted Genos on the head. "Let me put this all into perspective for you: from our medical exams, she isn't injured at all. Couple of scratches and bruises but nothing real bad to warrant a trip into the intensive ward with the bleeding brigade of Atlas. But, and probably thanks to me, I'm not a psychologist so I have no clue how bad she's going to be on the inside after having her life end up in the jaws of the Grimm—and no idea how much damage I caused myself.

"The medics that brought were muttering your name all the way through, telling us she was to be treated 'beyond good' and having her bill footed by the military itself. It didn't take long for anyone to figure out you have a vested interest in her. So we did for her what we would do for any other patient who had special status: we made some calls towards her next of kin. She has an Aunt on her mother's side if you're interested, but they don't consider her anything. They hung up after saying something about Faunus bastards. For all intents and purposes, she is alone in this room, and the rest of Remnant. For now, anyway. Once you remedy that she'll be your issue."

"My issue?"

"Oh spare the surprise. She going to leave with you. That much is fact. If the rest of her family were going to give up racism, they would have done it before her mom croaked. Stranger or not, you're all she has left."

"But how does that have to do anything with you saying—"

Shack knocked on Genos's head a few times. "Huh. Was expecting more of an empty clonking noise with how you've been responding so far. If I make her cry, the most I'll ever be is 'jackass doctor that I might see again if I ever get seriously hurt.' If you get her sad, well, the best case is that you manage to fix the situation. Unlikely considering your astounding display of social acumen. Worst case, you remind her too much of her dead family and she just can't bear to be around you, leaving her entirely alone and bound for foster care."

Releasing Shack's collar, Genos stepped back, finally in full comprehension of what the doctor was trying to do. "I see. I—for what you did I can't thank you—"

"Oh woe is me," Shack said, monotone, "the cyborg machine doesn't appreciate my delightful humor. Woe. Woe I say."

"—but I understand."

Shack nodded and moved to leave the room. "Good. Take her to a psychologist and get some help. You need someone who knows how to raise a child. A small girl specifically at that. It's up to you by this point, whether you like it or not. Good luck." Abruptly, Shack left and the door slammed shut in Genos's face, leaving the room quiet again.

Approaching Penny, clearly strained to the limit with regards to what to do about the distraught girl that she was trying to comfort, Genos found himself back at the where he began: completely clueless as well. "I have tried initiating human contact," Penny said, "supportive phrases; motivational speeches; begging; bribery; a massage; whispering; silenc—"

"Penny," Genos interrupted. She looked so timid in the delay, nervous as if she had failed him. She didn't. "Thank you." Till this day, Genos couldn't have imagined how two simple words could make such a brilliant smile.

In the empty room there were now three. Two confused. One in tears. Genos lowered himself, unsure as ever, hands shivering, trying to place a calming palm atop Robin's head. The resulting hug was desperate, and revealing, and would have never been expected by Genos.

The room might not have been any happier than it was, but lonely it certainly wasn't.


	21. Interlude: Batter Up

_Author's note: Own 0; sue 0. Sorry about the shortness of the chapters these two days. Traveling these two days. Updating when I can and when conscious. Status quo is good tomorrow._

Interlude:

Batter Up

Some three hundred miles across through Barbed Fingers and the Starver's Paradise, was a massive oasis that stretched as far the horizon. Bleeding beyond the edge of the badlands in Menagerie, the oasis was once named the Puddle, an ironic reference about its size.

Now, the Puddle was sealed away from prying eyes and thirsting throats, leaving just a few dying rivers for wanderers and frontiers-folk to survive off, and no longer did most folks call it the Puddle. The new title was the Spine: spine of Rex's operations. Where once the Puddle was stood, almost touching the sky with its length, now stood a fortress sealed away by a layer triangular walls that had hundreds of turrets stations above battlements and paraprets, along with wallrider's scouting out the horizon with each passing second atop their magnetized cycles stuck to the steel walls.

Of these rusted steel triangles, there were seven layers; seven split between the greatest loyalists under Rex, and the newly gathered grunts at the very exterior to provide a buttress of flesh along with their steel should the need arise. Beyond the seventh and final one stood the citadel: the heart of the fortress, built atop the center of the oasis, and where Rex was said to reside.

With such blatant might on display, no one dared approach the Spine without overwhelming force, which resulted in long quiet days between raids and operations, allowing a peace unbefitting the vicious nature common for Rex's enforcers.

Most took to cards, hunting, torture, or other more deplorable hobbies to pass their time atop the groaning battlements. For a few, though, philosophy became a prevalent topic.

"Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey."

For some others, philosophy became a pain in the ass.

"Are you going to ask me why if I wonder why we're here again? Please don't."

"But you didn't answer me."

"Because there's nothing to say. What do you want to hear? What do you want from me?"

"Philosophy man, philosophy. We're standing out in the long cold night, waiting, just the two of us on top of this tower watching outwards so that no one comes rushing in. You, me, and this turret are the only things out here. That's some profound loneliness right there—"

"Just say you're really bored Gav."

"And I'm really bored, Mick. It's cold and I'm bored which makes the cold even colder. It's like hell out here if hell was made of ice. Hey you want to hear about how some religions actually have frosted hells? I read about so of them out of a book I got from this old guy I shot." 

"No. Please. No."

"' _Left to nothingness, left to be one with the whitening touch of winter, the cast offs of Aslorn were left to Christelhiem to suffer in stillness till the ends of time._ '"

Mick grunted and hacked up some phlegm to spare himself the continuation of the boring tale. As the wet glob of mucus and spit sailed over the side, spattering into a wallrider's eyes and causing him to fall off the bike to his head, Mick noticed what seemed to be a pebble flit pass the moon's shadow in a blink.

"Did you see that?"

Gav stopped his reading. "What?"

"Something went right past the moon. You see it?"

Squinting at the dark sky, Gav tried to make out the darkness from the shadows as his sight slowly came into focus. Gav had the misfortune of being a nearsighted hawk Faunus, which was like being a cheetah without limbs. Thankfully, whatever the object was, it soon became close enough to make out. "Hm. Looks like a boulder." 

Peering at Gav, Mick furrowed his brow, causing his antennae to bobble. "Boulder. What boulde—ah. Shit."

It was big. Really big with how it made the wind quiver. With each passing second, it seemed to get bigger.

Screams came to life across their battlement as the rest of the wall also noticed the descending rock coming at them like a missile from high heaven. Four of the five battlements came alight with heavy turret fire, chipping at the center of the boulder with concentrated fire. Mick, being the perceptive sort that he was, was quite privy to the fact that he was doomed.

"Gav," Mick said, resigned, "what sort of people end up in that frozen hell of yours?" Below, dozens of wallriders began to bail as the shadow of the boulder's shadow washed over them as well. The sheer size of the falling rock grew more and more evident with each passing second.

"Well—" was all Gav got out when the gargantuan rock made its landing. Mick's battlements disappeared entirely beneath the boulder. They were granted the fortunate fate. From sheer force, the metal walls howled and bent in half, sending grunts bouncing off the front of the battlements and battlements crumbling apart as if they were sandcastles to a tsunami.

All forty kilometers of the southwest wall began to fold in half, capitulating to the sheer weight of the boulder indented into it. As the wall leaned back, the boulder finally began to come apart as mud and rock came loose from the kinetic energy discharged onto it in return. The failing southwest walls yanked down at the corners of the other two connected to it, pulling a few more battlements down to meet the earth.

Blaring alarms sounded through the camp as dust and ash shot into the air with the boulder finally tipping over the wall and coming down on the shack city of the grunts. The damage to the membrane of the Spine was immense. Six layers still stood before they could cut at the heart.

Cheers: a starkly different noise was expressed a few kilometers away, behind a small tree, as a man with a bat pumped his fist while standing atop his truck. "Damn, Snoopes. Did you see that. They didn't even get to react! Whole wall! Wham! Haha! Damn I'm good. What'd the rest of you guys think." 

A series of nonverbal replies of the nonexistent variety greeted Metal Bat. King glared his soul-crushing glare. Horse-Bone was doing whatever he was doing. Only Mumen Rider gave any sort of response. "It was a good swing."

On the other hand, Snoopes, not nearly used to absurd that the heroes commonly displayed stood slack jawed the destruction continuing as the boulder rolled on for a few seconds more before crumbling completely. "Good swing? That's at least five kilometers away. You ripped a small mountain, threw it up in the air, _hit it in mid-air, and hit something five kilometers away_. With a metal bat. Boss…that's not how physics are supposed to work."

Metal Bat snorted as he closed one eye to aim at his next target. "I wouldn't know cause I failed that class. I don't care cause it's smart enough to know when to back off and take my swing. So what should I hit next Snoopes? Guys? Think I can knock down the second layer?"

Non-replies. All he kept getting were non-replies.

"Yeah," Metal Bat said, speaking more to himself, "you're probably right. Only couple days left until my sister's recital. Stomping the gate will be much faster." 

"Boss, that's crazy—"

"Everyone in the truck."

Metal Bat had a hankering to add a 'broken' prefix to the Spine. He was already on his way; a vertebra had fallen. Six more things to break.


	22. Escalation VII: The Lewd

_Author's Note: Own-not-sue-no. I am back. Finally. After a brief absence during which I traveled for an few days before work ambushed me brutally. Regardless, here is another chapter, meant to set up the next, and trust me, you want to stay tuned: things are going to get messy._

Escalation VII:

The Lewd

In most schools, teachers get a lounge. For combat schools, the longue usually gets augmented to the size of an entire floor; with burgeoning Hunters training with a myriad of semblances ranging from being able to adjust body temperature to explosions, it becomes necessary for the adults to have a refuge from the puberty-cursed walking time bombs that are the students.

Beacon, one of the big four, took the whole lounge thing a bit further: the faculty get an entire building, built like stake, lodged in deep into the earth, held still by hardened alloys linked by a series of magnetics. Far above, a mere shack stood; something akin to an old outhouse from Vacuo meant to cull student attention. However, the small shack actually leads down into the main quarters where the staff are free to interact without the antics of the student body ever becoming an active issue.

Short of a precision strike from something like Atlas's kinetic harpoons—dubbed that way due the shape of the warheads—the faculty build will likely sustain little to no damage from whatever mayhem the students constantly cause above ground.

With that much effort put into keeping the faculty safe and sane, it would be completely understandable as to why there was an extent of…apprehension to allowing a moon-buster of a man into the increasingly fragile confines of the lounge.

"And that is why you must sign this," said Oobleck. Saitama stared at him like a fish would.

"I don't break everything I touch."

"Yes-yes-indeed. But considering the response the moon had to your sudden release, it can be seen as a just precaution. If you would please." Oobleck held out the disclaimer with a slight tremor in his hands, coffee stimulating his bloodstream like adrenaline would a normal person. On said disclaimer, Saitama skimmed through the general assortment of details: he would be responsible for any damages, no alcohol in the longue (already long since broken by Qrow), civilized conduct between peers (broken by Ironwood and Qrow, and any harm dealt to the coffee machine would be paid with through blood and torture.

That last one seemed a bit extreme.

With little else to do, Saitama relented and scribbled his name and relinquished both pen and paper back to Oobleck. "Delightful. No last name it seems. How curious. Will ask you about that later? Class is soon to be in session." Left without goodbye, Saitama just watched as Oobleck darted off back upstairs, something akin to a vibrating blur.

The berth that the rest of the lounge gave Saitama just increased the awkwardness he felt. It wasn't like he was a bomb about to go off. Annoyed, hungry, and a bit parched, Saitama headed to the newly designated office for the Abnormal Combat Course.

It was a small, cramped little room; the only thing available for assignment on such short notice as the semester had already begun. Though understandable, it was unfortunate that the room had little to no room, especially considering the current state of relations that was held between the three.

Duct tapped to the window was Qrow's desk, meant to be as far away from Ironwood as possible. Atop the suspended desk, Qrow sat using desk as chair and chair as a prop for his feet. On the other end, just behind the window that looked out at the rest of lounge, Ironwood entrenched himself behind a neatly organized desk, hiding his face behind an extensive amount of work for his scroll.

Between them was a simple wooden desk litter with stress balls and exercises on kinesiology and body control. This desk was Saitama's. Obviously. Shaking his head as he finally met the resting place for his rear face to face, Saitama shook off intrusive thoughts that he was becoming a salaryman again. Making his final landing onto his seat, the rest of the lounge finally returned to normal as the rest of the staff at Beacon breathed a sigh of relief, all returning to work after confirming nothing was broken after the extended duration they spent next to Saitama. A few teachers even began pulling off bomb-disposal armor as they fled in mass back into their own offices.

The clock ticked. Saitama sat. Qrow drank. Ironwood worked. And absolutely no one made eye contact during this entire time.

"So," Saitama said, trying to start a conversation without making things weird, "what am I supposed to do now."

"Grade." The words were more or less coughed out of Ironwood's throat. He forewent speech for a good portion of the day after the events of that afternoon. "We need to grade the students' performance."

"Ok. Am I supposed on paper or something?"

"No you use a—" Saitama's lack of a scroll was quickly becoming an issue. "We use a scroll."

Rising from his seat as if he was wandering into an ambush, Ironwood made a stiff and unnatural trek from his desk over to where Saitama was sitting. Gesturing for Qrow to join in, the other lecturer fumbled down from his desk and stood far behind Ironwood and Saitama, able to see the scroll but out of groping range.

"This is really similar to one of those new computers they came out with back in my world," Saitama said reaching out to press at the screen curiously. In a stunning lack of coordination, Ironwood's hand adjusted the scroll's position at the same time Saitama reached out, causing their hands to make contact. All of sudden, the scroll fell out of Ironwood's hand, bouncing atop the stress balls as the General paced away towards the window with ever diminishing room to escape. Qrow had his back all the way to the wall as Saitama gingerly picked up the scroll and tried to work out how the thing worked.

"Hey, you guys, come on. It's just a weird lewd drawing. That doesn't make it true. Ironwood, you hate Qrow, remember. All you guys need to do is stop glaring at each other like one of those creepy shows on television. The picture isn't real. Let's just put it behind us."

Simultaneously, terrible thoughts emerged into Ironwood and Qrow's heads as Saitama said "behind us."

Slowly returning to their original positions, the three slowly regained the courage to make eye-contact and tried to resume their grading efforts.

"So does A, B, C, D, and F still qualify as grading here? What should we do"

"Not exactly. The training for Hunters in combat is advanced and thorough, and differs drastically from book-based material and studies. The feedback they get from instructors is no different. We grade in categories of skill, tactics, semblance utilization, and teamwork, which each granted a grade of lacking, inadequate, acceptable, adept, remarkable, and exemplary. Only the very best of the students will ever get to see the last few of those grades." Saitama nodded along wearily with Ironwood's explanation, not looking forward to the sheer amount of work he would likely have to put into to grading in the near future.

"Ok. How are we going to grade the last session though," Saitama said, thinking about how all the students technically died. "I know that some of them had good tactics or something but didn't they all fail the exercise. Who gets what grade for that?"

This was a good question. In the history of Beacon, there has never been an Abnormal Combat Course to perplex both students and instructors, no blueprint to work from. They sat in silence pondering how to proceed. Just because this class was a creation for Ozpin to keep Saitama in containment and along for the ride doesn't mean the students shouldn't get just as much instruction.

At least that was the way Ironwood thought.

"There was that one kid who went flying across campus," Qrow said. "That's probably not acceptable."

Murmurs of agreement echoed through the other two. "But what about the rest of the students?"

The pondering continued. Ironwood shook his head and massaged his temples. Stuck troubleshooting a grading process while he still had an army to lead. He had to speed this process up. "Let's just grade based on how close the students were to the hill at the time of their simulated deaths. The closer the better."

A slight knock on their door made all three heads rise concurrently. They would soon wish they hadn't. Before them stood Port in his full mustached glory, looking none too pleased about the conversation he was about to make.

"Lecturer. Qrow. General. There is a matter that I wish to discuss with the three of you concerning the—er—influence you have on the students."

The lecturers quickly realized that they weren't going to be very pleased with this conversation either.

Pulling out a bundle of confiscated drawings, Port lowered the package of very meticulously illustrated drawings of the three lecturers in different, but almost always inappropriate situations, ranging from the risqué to the unspeakable. Clawing at his chest, Qrow desperately grasped for his liquid morphine only to quickly find that it was completely emptied during his earlier indulgences.

"I see that you all are none too pleased with this situation either," Port said. "I, too find this completely inappropriate, and more importantly, distracting for students during my lectures, so it would probably be best if we tried to deal with this issue before it spreads any further." Pausing, Port raised his eyebrow. "Though I do wish to inquire about another thing."

"What," Ironwood said, looking desk instead of Port. So damaged was his spirit that the once proud General now couldn't even manage to upright his neck.

"How did you all inspire this in your students?"

"What?" Saitama asked.

"Well clearly, you're the dominant one in all these illustrations, so indeed, I should be asking you first? How did you inspire such awe in your students? I mean, physically I'm not slouch either," Port tried to flex subtly, but like all things with Port, subtle was just not a thing, "but you have dominated the students' fascination on a whole new, entirely disturbing level. What do you teach them?"

Perhaps if they said cleavage at this moment, then Port would have been stunned into leaving. However, with the assault on their psyches and strained ability to effective look at each other anymore, they settled for mumbling a series of nondescript sounds at Port.

"I have no idea," Saitama finally breathed out. He was supposed to be a hero for hobby dammit. Not some weird fetish teacher at an academy in another world.

"Oh. Very well. When you find the originator of these drawings, give them a stern talking to, and perhaps…just maybe instruct them to use their artistic talents to give life to something _or someone_ in a more respectable circumstance eh." If the thick hints didn't tell the lecturers what he was hinting at, the wink at the end certainly made sure they knew.

For the first time in his life, Ironwood wanted to throw up on someone else on purpose. It was probably for the best when Port retreated from the room with another unsubtle wink.

"…"

"…"

Ironwood now bore the stare that many soldiers held after one too many wars. "We need to stop this thing. We need to stop this thing right now."

But in the darkest times, there is always a flicker of hope. Indeed, hope springs from the most unexpected of places, from the waterfalls of the far unseen. In this case, from within the mind of an alcohol deficient, quite enervated Qrow. "I might have an idea."

Sometimes, having family as part of the student body certainly helps.

…

"Weiss! Door!"

Groaning, Weiss rolled on her bed to glare at where the blonde was through the steam rising from the crevice below bathroom door. That girl loved her hair far too much; every time she enters the bathroom they needed to open the window afterwards. It was like she was trying to make a fog machine in there. Thankfully, it didn't take long for Team RWBY to establish a bathing order based around efficiency and speed, and Yang was almost always last in line for that clear reason.

That didn't stop her from nagging the rest of the bunch. " _Weiss!_ Knocking. Door."

"Blake," Weiss said, wincing as she rolled over on her bruised leg. "Can you—"

But Blake was far to engrossed in her book, and didn't even bother looking up. "She asked for you. Wouldn't want to disappoint her."

Gnashing her teeth at Blake, and firing off another frown at Yang, Weiss peered to the side to call at Ruby, but lamented at mellifluous laughter coming from the younger girl as she watched one of those absurd cartoons on her scroll with her ears hidden beneath her thick headphones. Weiss never liked cartoons, she found them too childish even at a young age. Too unrealistic; too many perfect families in perpetual bliss. Yet, the way it made Ruby happy was genuine. Capitulating and cursing her own decency, Weiss rose off the bed to stagger over.

Almost upon the handle, Weiss grew still in her path as her face tensed. "Jaune. If that's you behind this door, I swear to every god in all four kingdoms and beyond the only thing that you'll be sweet talking to is Myrtenaster when I insert it right into your lips!"

Wrenching the door with anticipatory murder in mind, she quickly discovered that she was right about Jaune's presence. However, Jaune wasn't the only one there. It appears that he had brought the rest of his team along with him. Weiss suspected foul play; could Jaune truly be dumb enough to involve the rest of his team in his silly seduction attempts?

"Greetings Weiss," said Pyrrha affably while Jaune hid behind her, exposing only one eye to peer, along with a hand to wave at Weiss. Nora and Lie Ren flanked Pyrrha and were generally looking rather off in some way that Weiss just couldn't quite place. Something was truly afoot.

"…Greetings. Is something the matter."

There was a tense exchange of looks between all members of JNPR. They steeled themselves and proceeded on for what was to come. Jaune nodded at Lie, signaling him to reveal a piece of paper that he had hidden behind him. "It's best if Ruby and Yang were here to see this," said Jaune. "It concerns them personal—waggh!"

From out of nowhere, Qrow appeared pushing through Jaune and the rest of JNPR to where Ruby lay on her bed. Trailing closely behind was Saitama digging through his nose and disgruntled looking Ironwood. Eyes widening as her uncle approached her with seriousness filled in his eyes, Ruby pulled off her headphones.

"Kid," Qrow said, obviously having a difficult time putting his thoughts into words, "I need your help."

Ruby nodded without hesitation.

"I don't know if you've seen the drawings yet but they aren't true—they aren't! It's just some kid's sick twisted fantasy that's gone out of control."

"Uncle Qrow," Ruby shrank back, frightened at the intensity in Qrow's eyes and the lack of alcohol on his breath. No alcohol? That was a terrible sign. "I don't understand-"

Ironwood stood next to Qrow, causing the latter to inch away suddenly. "That's good. The less you know about the situation the better. We need you to maintain upmost secrecy regardless. Understood."

"'We?'" Ruby asked, terrified: _Uncle Qrow was_ _agreeing with General Ironwood. Hell was breaking loose._ "What's going on? I don't understand."

"Guys," Saitama said, pointing at the paper in Lie's hands, "I think it's already spread here too." On the paper, similar lewd drawings—this time with a half-dressed Saitama holding two chained leashes connected Ironwood and Qrow, both of whom were reduced to crawling on their hands and knees like dogs of desire.

For a second, both men froze in place as Ruby caught sight of something not meant for delicate virgin eyes. "Aghh!" Ruby cried clutching at her eye sockets as if they had been set ablaze. "It's horrible. My eyes! Uncle Qrow! Why?" Qrow almost seemed apologetic that his niece had to see that. Almost. But she was about to get involved in a whole lot of dirty business that probably would work better if she was hardened.

It took a millionth of a breath for both of them to descend on Lie like vicious hawks born from the bowels of vengeance, forged by the hammer of disgust. With a snatch so forceful it yanked Ren right into Qrow's chest, Ironwood took possession of the paper and immediately began abusing military technology by scanning the image. Should more pictures surface, he would match the art style and narrow the original perpetrator.

"Did you do this," Qrow asked, far too calmly. "Honesty is a good habit. Especially when I'm involved."

"Hey!" cried Nora, sparks of electric buzzing off her slightly. Stomping over as if Qrow was invading her sovereign territory, Nora buried her finger into Qrow's chest. "Ren has nothing to do with this. He just found it laying the middle of the hall. And besides, what if he did?"

Everyone stopped. Ironwood lowered the drawing and flummoxed. What could they do the Ren if he did anything? It was inappropriate. It was quite revolting. Yet, they couldn't just go around browbeating students to force them to own up to these things. This wasn't the mafia.

"Nora," Ren placated Nora while being nonplussed about the entire situation. Stepping past his partner, Ren squared up with Qrow. "I don't have any idea who's writing this. Or even if there is one person drawing this. But we were coming over to let Ruby and Yang know that there's a growing market."

"A growing market," Saitama's eyes widened. Was Ren serious? Kids actually bought and sold this stuff. That was far to gross to imagine; perhaps Ren was just using a figure of speech.

"People are buying and selling these smut illustrations of you three. Standard deviance-"

"Standard deviance?" Ironwood croaked out.

"Yes. Standard. Not too perverted. It costs around...ten lien."

"Students are making money off our likeness?" Ironwood sputtered.

"I could be making money off this?" Qrow muttered thoughtfully.

"It's a fad. It'll pass if you stop stirring at it."

Everyone looked at Blake. The sudden attention directed towards her made her wish that she said nothing at all. Grumpily shutting her book and hiding behind. "Look. Whoever's drawing the smut of you guys is clearly doing it out of admiration."

That was the last thing that Saitama expected to hear. "Admiration?"

"Look at the way he draws you guy: hardened, chiseled, like statues that gleam."

The descriptions that were being used made Weiss worry. "Blake...how do you know so much about this?"

 _Ninjas of Love_ quickly found itself shoved behind the bed, far from prying eyes. "Reading gives you insight." Stutter-muttering isn't common, but Blake certainly pulled it off.

Emboldened by the appearance of an expert, Ironwood held out the drawing and showed it to Blake. "What else can you tell about this."

Realizing there was no way out of this messy, Blake sighed. The artist was certainly talented, but not professional. He was likely doing this as something akin to fan art: a side project. The muscles were well drawn but the proportion were all the same, making all three except Ironwood look overly burly in build. Perhaps a liking for muscular men? She would have to compare it to other drawings to be sure. Another issue was the nipples: they all looked the same. The lack of variety and smallness of the drawing spoke of a nervousness and lack of practice when it came to drawing those features. She traced her fingers across the paper and sniffed at the smell-new book smell, and judging from the smidge of charcoal on her fingertips, was first shaded with pencil before he lightly traced it with a pen for better effect. "Hm. Amateur. A good one. But still an amateur."

"And just how did you figure that out?" Weiss asked, peering at Blake surreptitiously. "How do you know these things? Books don't teach you about this?"

"Its quite simple: look at the nipples."

Ruby whimpered. "Ew. No."

"They're all drawn to look alike. The body dimensions for all three of you are wrong. Paper is torn out of a new notebook. And most importantly of all, they are likely of a security, police, or military background."

"What?" Ironwood asked.

"The chains leashed to your necks," Blake said, pointing out the iron-linked manacles with spikes and a rusty shiny, "these are not typical for fetish drawings. These are based off of chains that have for those commonly seen in Hound-Officers or Dog-Scouts in wars."

Weiss was flabbergasted. "And how did you know that?"

Blake let slip a dark look. "We Faunus know chains pretty well. Trust me."

"I see." Ironwood looked at Qrow and they knew what had to happen next. "Ms. Belladonna-"

"With respect General: no. Not getting involved with this. It's a fad. It will pass. Just wait."

"It's spreading," Qrow said. "These...things are being distributed in other classes too."

"No."

"We'll give you extra credit," Saitama suggested helpfully. The other two lecturers stared and him and shrugged.

"Sure." Ironwood said.

"Extra credit. Why not," Qrow concurred.

"You're not going to let this go aren't you?" Blake wasn't used to grown men-especially illustrious warriors and a moon punching monster-coming to seek her aid, but she could tell persistence when it was there. No way to run from this one. Frowning slightly, Blake sullenly nodded. "Extra credit. For the team too."

"Ok." Saitama said, agreeing to a deal would have gotten any legitimate professor fired on the spot. Wisps of fog rose between them, but no one noticed. "Deal."

"What deal?" Everyone froze. Yang emerged from the mist spewing chamber that was the bathroom, towel being wrapped on her head in a bundle. "And why is our dorm so crowd...ed"

The smoke parted before her eyes and she saw something she was never meant to see. Saitama stood on side of the room while Qrow and Ironwood were standing near Blake. It was merely weird until she noticed the _drawings_ held in Ironwood's hand, being presented to Blake. On it, she saw the face of the devil. The devil looked a lot like her shirtless uncle and Ironwood being walked by Saitama like a dog.

"Yang! Noooo!" Ruby's howls were of horror and despair. "Look away!"

But she was far too late. Yang had already gazed into the abyss: she had seen far too much of her uncle's imagined nudity to ever return from this void. The fact that Blake was supposedly purchasing this from _Ironwood_ of all people just made it even more unfathomable. Madly, Yang began to laugh, tittering on the edge of a breakdown. "Wh-what is this? Is this a dream."

"Yang," Blake said, now blushing furiously, "this isn't what it looks like."

"I don't even know what this looks like," Yang said, running her hands down her face. "What's going on here?"

Pulling towel loose from head, Yang threw the damp cloth against the wall with cry that deaf bats would understand quite well as the echo cry for being severed from reason. It took a second for everyone to reboot. "Blake. I knew you were into some kinky stuff…"

"Yang," batting at the drawing with repelling swats, Blake's innocence bled through her pleading kitten eyes, "it's really not what it looks like."

Coordinating with Blake unintentionally, Ironwood flicked the picture like it was bug out of his fingers. This was when it flew onto Ruby's bed causing the younger girl to back against the wall in horror as shirtless picture Ironwood and Qrow came at her like two hounds mad with desire. Ever closer it came, summoned by winds wrought from Ironwood's disgust, until a shadow came over it in an instant far too quick for untrained eyes to see. The drawing split apart, with drifting out the window and the other undulating through the air to find its final resting place just before Yang.

Averting her eyes from the revolting disgust of Saitama walking her uncle like deviant, Yang's irises filled with fire and the towel on her head caught fire. "Explanations."

Where were they to begin.

…

Elsewhere, just outside Beacon's amphitheatre, Winter flew in with the autumn leaves, arriving at a most tumultuous time.

The Atlas shuttle gracefully lowered on an even descent, befitting its moniker as the Hummingbird X-2. The model of X-1 could do much of the same thing but had the unfortunate tendency to overheat and combust after extended flights.

The moment the shuttle doors parted to the withering chill of Vale as the specialist descended upon Beacon, she knew that something was afoot. Hints started coming her way as half a drawing smacked right into her face. The meticulous illustration fluttered hard against Winter Schnee, wobbling on the edges before her ire demanded her impale it with her sabre, as most ill-tempered Schnee would.

She prepared to cast it off back to the heartless winds when she noticed the unmistakable visage of General Ironwood's unbarred chest sketched in astounding detail, only slightly diminished by the sorrowful state the paper was in. He also seemed to have a metal chain around his neck that made him seem like a dog. That last bit made Winter's gut do a barrel roll into her stomach; she felt as if her acids were going to burst apart inside her from the disgust she felt.

Jaw slightly agape, Winter looked upon the academy of Beacon, now bearing a terribly menacing visage before her. Something horrible has unfolded in her absence.

She needed to find the General immediately.


	23. Escalation VIII: Involvement

_Author's Note: Sue=No Own=No. Sorry I have been away for a while. Work and classes are substantially hard to evade when you have more than five hours of both each day. However, now that I have broken through, I am going to redouble my efforts to resume my daily upload attempt. It might be a pipe dream that is more unlikely than a cooked crab trying to reveal a blush, but dammit I won't let impossibilities stop me._

 _On a side note, I am more thankful than a hungry walrus stranded on a shore full of sleeping penguins for all the reviews and readers that have gone over the Fist of Remnant. Over thousand follows now, so I guess I'm doing something that folks really like to read. Talk about incentives to make this thing even better in the meantime. Now let's see if I can make some more people happy with some letters on a page..._

 **Escalation VIII:**

 **Involvement**

Like a filthy wound, the art of the lecturers spread through the school, filling every crook, every crack with more contraband to trade. The makings of a forbidden economy found life at Beacon.

Couriers of clandestine repute possessing skills of obfuscation would transport the goods from point to point, moving only under instructions they received at random dead-drops. Inscrutable markings scratched on discarded crumpled balls of paper left in specific corners gave only the slightest hint of what was to be deliver. For this to work, couriers worked with decipherers.

Down sinuous staircases that formed the spines to the dorms, the couriers mingled amongst the distributors, a trade happening under a rule of five seconds. As such, deals were struck or broken on the move. In doing so, the art changed hands with lien as quickly as there was a yearning for a specific type of drawing.

From here the couriers found themselves rushing off to a central point to deliver their final drop, before keeping their portion of the cut and being drawn away by mundane requirements of class or friends. Meanwhile, in the Long-pact Hall dorm, in room 209, the trade happened.

Long thought to be an empty supply closet, the room was smaller than it seemed; the truth was beyond perception: the end of the room was a mere projection meant to deny the less curious and deter prying eyes. Through the fake wall that held a broom left leaning against the side at an angle uneven, a beige bucket, the commotion of a small market murmured outwards.

Dozens of students dealt in the purchase and sale of art daily. In doing so, the hidden artist thrived and found purpose in his new erotic duties, far from 209, in a refuge away from the noise.

Indeed, the students of Beacon were of the resourceful sort, capable of creating things that would take investigators a paltry extent of effort to resolve. If it wasn't so deplorable for three different staff members at Beacon, it would truly be commendable. Regardless, it was still impressive that in just a short time, the students at Beacon formed the second most illegal group on campus in such a short time.

They would have been the first if Cinder Fall wasn't just three doors down the hall.

…

" _Look at the pretty butterflies!"_

 _"Nightingale! Oh, Nightingale! Where for art thou Nightingale!"_

 _"NO! Someone help! My sister—she's hurt! Someone! Anyone!"_

 _"I couldn't save them. I couldn't save any of them!"_

" _RAGGHHHH!"_

"Cinder?"

Her eyes opened lethargically, revealing a striking brightness left blemished by the tired dark bags beneath. Exhaustion would not loosen its hold on her, despite her rest. It was as if she was always awake; always thinking; always connected to some far-off spirits. Distant memories dug into the walls of her mind, burrowing in and shattering into fragments that mingled and distorted further.

"Cinder?" Emerald asked again, noticing her weariness.

"We spoke regarding our covers, did we not?"

"Oh—yes…I mean Ella. Are you—"

"I'm fine." The way the words came out told Emerald that the dialogue was at an end. Cinder decreed it. "Where is Mercury?"

Rolling her eyes, Emerald stuck her thumb out at the showers. Inside, the furious scrubbing of metal limbs could be faintly heard over the running water. "Princess had to clean his booties. Too much dirt got in his pants after we got hit." 

Bringing her hands touch at a bruise on her back, Cinder recalled memories of being flung through the air and crashing into the dirt over and over, beyond her control. Hate welled up in her as the air heated around her. Half the power of a maiden and yet she stood less than a whim to him, nothing but a blade of grass to the bald one's half-hearted assaults.

. Like a candle snuffed out, the heat faded as fast it came. Her control and victory over the bald behemoth—though infinitely more powerful than anyone present in the known world—would not be denied. By wit or will, she would have him bent to her if he would not break. And she had just the tool to do it.

Holding her hand before her eye, she leered at the glove that now all but took the place of her skin. She hadn't taken it off since she received it. Through a hundred invisible strands and strings, constantly spread, always growing like the web of a spider, she felt an unseen hand within her grasp the will of so many under her thrall.

Many more will fall into her web before this would be done. And like a ladder, she would build her way up. Relationship would become her weapon. Teams will become their own downfall. Saitama will hold Qrow and Ironwood in his arms like—wait, what. Cinder blinked.

"Emerald. What is that?"

"Hmm. Oh, this. I found it underneath our door earlier. Disgusting, right?"

A wave of repulsion shook through Cinder. And through Cinder, a wave of repulsion spread out, riding off invisible strands woven through her aura.

…

"No. No. No. No. No. No. No."

"What's wrong with them," growled the Lieutenant as the enthralled Atlas soldiers all began to chant together in unison. The words come out of their lips like a frantic sweat. Even those of them sequestered off in cages spoke in sync through a bond as eerie as it was mystical.

"Abs…aaaaabbbbsssss…."

Adam emerged from his tent to glare silently at the muttering madmen and women of Atlas. Were they broken? What was wrong with them?

"Perhaps we should ask for a refund?" asked a Fang, attempting levity. Attempting. He sounded like a constipated gorilla trying to lift its pitch. "These ones might be broken."

"Abbbbbbbssssss…."

Shaking his head, Adam returned to his tent and shut the flaps tight. Light from a dull lamp cast nary but a glimmer on a map scribbled and scrawled upon. Focusing specifically on Beacon, Adam clenched his fists.

Soon, he would no longer have to endure this madness. No more thralls. No more Cinder. No more being slaves. At Beacon, they would win. Or they would make for a good song for those that come long after.

Either way, Atlas and Cinder would be smashed together. And through the ashes, the Fang will claim to what remains of the wreckage.

…

Snapping back into her own mind, Cinder felt something trickle down her lips. A dribble of red splattered onto her thigh, and then another. Soon, the red began flow in force. Covering her nose, Cinder tried to stem the flow of blood that escaped through the cracks of her fingers.

"Cinder?" Emerald asked with open concern. "Are you alri—"

" **I said I'm fine,"** hissed a chorus of voices. Blanching at the response, Emerald leaned away from Cinder, fear blooming in her. "I'm fin—"

Their wall peeled apart like it was plasticine, giving way to the full force of a body launched through the room. Snapping to her feet, Emerald had her guns pointed at the newly made opening of the room while Cinder brought obsidian blades to bear, rising off the bed with a slight stagger.

Pulling himself up to his feet, Neptune rubbed the top of his head and batted at his hair trying to get it back in place. "Guess that's a no deal then," he said, dusting himself off. It was on the five pat that he noticed Emerald and Cinder glaring at him with their weapons at the ready.

"Uh…hi," leveling his best smolder at the two, he unleashed his primarily skill of being absurdly attractive try to diffuse whatever standoff he was in now. The rapid blinks in Emerald's eyes told him that he was having a bit of an effect. The lack of blinks form Cinder told him that he was still likely to die. "Sorry about your wall. Didn't mean to bust right in.

"What the hell!" squealed a short green-haired girl a room over. She stood clad only in an oversized t-shirt, with bedsheets wrapped around her legs. It seemed like he went through a few more walls than expected. Neptune quickly spun around at her and gave her some of his treatment. "I mean….what the h—oh. hi." She blushed slightly at the sight of Neptune.

Through the smashed wall behind her, a large ox-like man slugged outwards, more tired than annoyed. Past him, through another busted wall, a chattering mob of students cursed and tried to form a blockade to prevent what seemed to be an explosion of papers from leaving the room.

Poking his head out the bathroom door, Mercury peered out at the damage done to their room and the students currently staring into their sanctuary of diabolical planning. Then, he looked back in the shower where his problems stayed a room away. Beating a wordless retreat, Mercury decided that he needed to wash his hair again.

"Hey," shouted Sky, still sporting a massive bruise from where a rubber ball had hit him earlier, "none of you saw nothing okay!" He swatted and stuffed more escaping papers back into the room. It was like his life depended on it.

Despite his valiant efforts, some did indeed escape and one such paper—an intricately designed piece involving Saitama, Qrow, and Ironwood in various degrees of elevation flopped down intensely before Cinder.

Elsewhere, a few of her thralls began to vomit on White Fang boots.

Enough. She has had enough. Enough of the bald idiot. Enough of artwork of the bald idiot. Enough of being abused by the bald idiot. Enough!

The paper quickly caught fire. The curtains quickly followed. The sprinklers came to life shortly afterwards. For the second time that week, Cinder found herself drenched in water after setting her room on fire.

"Hey," Sky shouted, pointing at the burning bit art piece before Cinder, flames unquenched by the downpour of water, "that one cost fourteen lien! You owe us fourteen lien." 

"You busted down our wall!" Emerald responded with an equally agitated growl.

"No, that cheap shmuck did," Sky said, pointing at Neptune.

Across the cross floated a carpet made of nude Qrows, obedient Ironwoods, dominant Saitamas. As two other students with ruined rooms gawked at the influx of promiscuous drawings, Cinder merely found it in herself to despair. Was there no sanctuary from this bald demon?

Did he even have to strike at her in paper form?

…

"Hm?"

"General Ironwood? Where is he?"

Locked in her stiff stance, Winter tried to extend her will outwards to Ozpin, to make him know that she was serious. However, it seemed that he was more interested in looking outside his window. "Headmaster. Headmaster Ozpin!"

"Hm? Yes. Come over here for a second." Begrudgingly, Winter approached the spot next to Ozpin. She had other things to do at this moment. A General to find; a sister to greet.

"Do you see that down there?"

"I—yes?"

"What is that?"

"That…looks like a well."

"That's what I think too." Somehow, Ozpin looked currently pleased and dismayed at her answer. It was first for Winter to witness such a mixed message from his body language—it was the bearing akin to a drunkard realizing what he did the night before, realizing just what he did. In this case, it seemed like he installed a well for no good reason. "Anyway, what were you asking?" 

"General—"

"Ironwood currently teaching one of recently added classes."

"Recently added?" Winter's confusion grew evermore. "But the semester is already ongoing."

"Indeed. It is a peculiar class. Little John, if you would please."

With a subservient squeak that sounded so obsequious in chirp that other birds might have lost all respect for it, Little John bounded towards desk, snatched Ozpin's scroll off and lifted it for Winter to see. The bird trembled under the weight but did the best to satisfy his master for fear of death and the promise of more rewards. Tilting the scroll up for Winter to see, the specialist frowned at the syllabus for Abnormal Combat Scenarios.

"I…see," Winter said, seeing Ironwood's name right next to Qrow's, and just below someone called Saitama. Saitama? She didn't recall ever hearing of a Saitama. "I don't understand why the General would do such a thing."

"I enrolled Qrow in the class as an assistant lecturer. He accepted shortly thereafter"

"On purpose?" Winter nearly gagged.

"Most certainly." said Ozpin smirking at her momentarily, growing more inscrutable by the second. Glaring at the Headmaster internally, Winter fought to hide her seething heart. She would never understand how Ironwood found it in him to deal with men like Ozpin and her father. Liars and half-truths drip from their tongue like poison does from a viper's fangs. Nothing is ever said straight nor certain. All are but mere chess pieces to them.

She became a specialist to expose the corruption and hidden machinations of criminals. Yet, here she was playing a similar game, once again on the losing end she was growing up. Winter Schnee was cursed to be among liars and deceivers on both sides of the spectrum.

"My sister is in this course as well, along with her team?" Winter said, looking through the team names as Little John strained its neck muscles to scroll the page downwards. She took note of

"Indeed," said Ozpin. "If you are worried regarding her safety I can…almost certainly say that there should be no issue." That was the best reassurance that Ozpin could give. As he said himself, the class was actively courting chaos. What else could come from such a paradoxical character as Saitama.

"Almost." She wanted to question that line but decided to end it on with that one word. If anything, she could figure out what was going on from Weiss directly.

Huffing silently, Winter straightened her back and brought her feet together. She barely caught the salute rising; a habit hard to quell from years of repeated conditioning. "May I be excused."

"I have no authority to keep you here," Ozpin said, still studying the mysterious newly manifested well. "Try the teachers' lounge first. I doubt you will find them there right now but perhaps another might have seen them.

Heeding his advice, Winter turned to leave but fumbled in her step as she recalled another, less approachable matter that she was to deal with. "Headmaster Ozpin. A final question, if its not too much trouble."

"Yes?"

"Have you noticed an influx of…artwork?"

"Artwork you say?" Ozpin considered the question. Murmurs had reached him during his early wandering next to the well. "What type of artwork."

"I…" scandalous art appeared in Winter's mind, "I…I would rather not say. It's highly inappropriate."

"How inappropriate?"

She considered how to elaborate on this. "Scandalous."

"Scandalous," Ozpin said, seemingly trying out the word on his tongue for the first time. "I'm afraid I have little information to give you here. Perhaps one of the other professors could tell you what their students are doing in class."

In the back of Winter's mind, she already had a direction that she wished to swept in due time. "Is there are club here? A course for art perhaps?"

"I'm certain there is no course for art," answered Ozpin absentmindedly, "but as for clubs, you're better off checking with the students. What our prospective Hunters and Huntresses do with their spare time is not quite as closely monitored here as it would be at Atlas."

Making her retreat to the elevator, a layer of intrigue congealed into existence. Not only had Ironwood been dragged into becoming an assistant instructor on some course, but there was also a following for him. Unexpected.

Shaking those thoughts aside, Winter set herself to finding the General first. The rest can be explained and dealt with in due time. There were only so many places that Ironwood could be. With no response from his scroll, a flagship under repair, and Ozpin more interested in staring out the window than helping, she had to rely on herself. As always.

This would prove to be of no difficulty. Everything was linked by relationships, actions, and results. She merely needed to tug at the most logical strands for optimum results. Which meant that she has to track down the only other people that Ironwood spends any time with. Qrow. That was one drunkard that she could go without seeing for the rest of her life.

And then there was this Saitama figure. Who was this Saitama? Where did he come from? He was entered into the school's database just about a week ago, right after the moon sustained that impact. Almost exactly right after. Winter's eyes widened as a sudden realization hit her; she seen videos circulating secure Atlas channels of what seemed to be a human figure side-hopping through a veritable swarm of Grimm.

Though the shattering masses of beast and shadow, there was a glimmer on the head of this figure. Saitama was bald too.

Her scroll hung loosely in her hand as she pondered on coincidences, chances, and reactions. Nothing was certain anymore. Before she could worry about that, she would seek Weiss out. Her sister should be long done with classes for the day and should be available to function as a guide around campus.

And besides, she was more than happy to spend more time with Weiss. Productive use of that time should only increase the benefit to both of them.

...

"What am I supposed to do?"

Dr. Shack was pulled off his medical coat and replacing it with a grey double-breasted long coat fit for the outside weather. He didn't bother to give Genos the courtesy of a passing glance. "About?"

"Robin." 

"Oh. Uh…feed her three times a day. Take her for walks regularly in case of obesity. Floss. That too.

There were few people who could withstand Genos's glowing glare without a response. The doctor went beyond withstanding and into the territory of not caring. "I am not joking with you. I don't want to get mockery in return. What processes do I need to go through? What do I need to know?" 

Planting his cane into the ground, Shack spun on his good leg to face Genos. "Alright then. Here's the deal: the girl is in your care. Well. Technically she's under Atlas's since they paid her bills but they associated her with you, leaving you as her sole guardian. Extended family doesn't want anything to do with her, so if you don't take her with you, she's just going to tumble into one of those orphanages for kids who lost their parents to the Grimm, so she can look at all the other kids with dead parents, and think to herself 'why, my parents, like theirs, are dead and never coming back!'

"With the technical information out of the way, the simplest version of the next few steps follow: you bring her to someone who knows what they are doing. Choice A. You keep her and try not brutalize her even further mentally beyond her current state. That's choice B. Beyond that, I don't see many options laid out for you. Maybe you should consult someone who knows about children. But regardless what you decide, her room needs to be emptied before the day is over. More screaming and bleeding coming in later tonight. And she's neither of those things."

Limping away, a distance grew between them, as the cyborg stood there, dumbfounded by the sudden burden on his shoulders. "Wait," Genos said, giving chase, "when did you clear her—"

"Yesterday," Dr. Shack just kept walking towards the elevator, forcing Genos to march along. For the briefest of moments, the other doctors and patients sought to seize the opportunity to ask for an autograph again, but alas, they were deterred by the threat of Shack. "Took the liberty of getting her out of your hands and into yours early."

"How did you kn-"

"Guessed. Figured. Gambled. Any one of those words," stumbling into the elevator, Shack slapped the garage button furiously, trying to get out of the conversation. This was a poor plan as Genos stopped the doors from shutting by standing where they would close. "Is that all? I need to get home and watch some erotica on my own. Cutting into my me time here."

"Why would you give this to me."

Shack rolled his eyes. "Because there isn't another good choice. Atlas medics come in talking about you saving her. A look into her other family and you'll there's nothing there for her. Orphanages have too many children circulating in the system to provide for another. So…what now?"

Stepping back away from the elevator, Genos frowned. "I don't know what to do."

"Take care of her. Or don't. It's your choice." Shack said simply, as the door began to close. "She's a smart girl. I know that because she didn't bother eating any of the food the hospital offered her." 

Left standing, more lost than he ever was, Genos frowned and looked at Penny.

"It is Atlas policy to deposit children without guardians in an orphanage. Would you like me to search for the best facility for her to stay in—"

"No. Not yet." Who could Genos seek to assist him in this matter? He knew nothing of caring for children. He was barely edging on the cusp of adulthood himself. How would he know what to do regarding a child? Who could help him? Who could teach him what to do with Robin? 

Teach? Teacher. Master. What would master do?

Apparitions of a glowing bald head roared to life within the inner world of Genos. "100 push-ups! 100 sit-ups! 100 squats! Ten miles! No air-con!" Genos fought the urge to frown as no other advice came from the bald manifestation; it just kept going about body training over and over again.

Robin's arms were around as thick as a blade of grass. Even for her age, she seemed lithe and thin. He also had doubts that strength training was going to be the answer to mental trauma.

No. If Genos was to get help, he would need to get help from the source.

He had to seek out Saitama: wisdom lay with the person, not the memory.

Making up him mind, Genos stormed back towards the room where Penny sat, making her eyes change color in an attempt to amuse Robin. It appeared to make her nauseous instead with the rapid pace that colors changed and blinked.

Entering the room with absolutely no finesse whatsoever, Genos stood like a statue placed in the paintings ward of a museum, odd and stiff. How was he going to break the news to her that he was now her guardian? Did she even want to go with him? Did anyone consider her feelings in the matter?"

"Are we leaving?" Robin asked, lifting the blankets off her.

"I—yes?" Genos said. Alright, that was the hard part out of the way. Here he was trying to figure out some elaborate and roundabout way of ascertaining her feelings. "You're fine with going with me?"

Robin left the bed with slip. She had been constrained there far too long. "Mommy only talked about her sister in that angry voice with daddy when they think I'm asleep. I don't think they wanted me to know about her. She didn't come to see me either. I think if you were going to let the orphanage take me, you would be gone by now." Uncertainty showed on her face as she finished that sentence. "I think. Am I wrong?"

"No. You're not."

The fear left her. "I thought so." Robin tried a smile and decided that she wasn't ready yet as her lip quivered. "So…where are we going."

"Beacon?" Penny suggested. 

"Yes," Genos agreed.

Robin sniffled. Genos stared. Penny just smiled. They just waited in stillness as the footsteps of doctors and actual patients pattered along outside.

"I'm sorry," Genos admitted, finally breaking under the strain of silence. "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do."

"I know," Robin said. "Dad told me that even if I wasn't sure I should keep trying anyway." 

Genos understood. He gave Robin a resolute nod and steeled himself for the task to come. The girl just looked at him confused.

"Why'd you just nod at me?"

He wasn't prepared for that question. "It's acknowledgement for what you just told me."

Robin studied him for a moment. "Do you do that a lot?" 

"The nodding?"

"He does," Penny added helpfully. 

Genos nodded.

"Do people always know why you're nodding at them?" 

That question struck Genos right in the back of the head. Did they know? He wasn't sure. Is this why he and master have so many moments of confusion. Meanwhile, Robin bobbed her head trying to replicate Genos's motion. "Why do you do it so hard too?" 

"Hard?"

"The energy in your nod is enough to tear several normal human tendons," said Penny, like it was the most obvious thing.

Once again, Genos found himself without an answer. Was so inadequate a guardian that his very actions are already confusing for Robin. "I suppose it's just...habit."

"I see."

The stood and observed each other in silence as Penny swung her head between the two of them. Somewhere in the distance, across continents, a tumbleweed missed its calling.

"Are we leaving?" Robin asked, breaking the impasse as if it was never there. "Can we leave?" 

"Yes," said Genos, uncertain of what to make of Robin. In all his years of being a hero, he has seen grief and its many faces. For Robin, with the pain at its freshest, the likelihood that she has overcome the loss is unlikely, which makes her sudden change in demeanor disquieting. 

Sliding behind Genos slowly, Penny arched her head at Robin and her eyes brows rose. Like pendulum, her eyes swung back to Genos and her mouth curved into a smile. "Genos," she said at a volume so soft that only he could hear, "I have a possible theory on the way she's acting."

"What?"

"She's trying to be like you." 

Puzzled, Genos waited for a more elaborated explanation.

"She's trying to act like her hero. Her hero with the same losses, who has yet to display any pain."

It was only then that Genos managed to decipher what Robin was trying to do during those few moments of silence: she was trying to replicate his resting glare.


	24. Escalation IX: Misfortune's Favor

_Author's Note: Here is a new chapter. That's all I own._

 **Escalation IX:**

 **Misfortune's Favor**

Torchwick balanced his hat on his nose as he watched the Fang move shipments of crates filled with unknown substances into the warehouse. To passersby, it just looked as if Fanus menial laborers were being put to proper use. From the inside, Torchwick was approaching the event horizon for boredom.

As his hat fell from the bridge of his nose back onto his head, Torchwick let out a sigh and looked at Neo, who seemed quite content to lazy about under her umbrella with a large bucket of ice-cream in her lap.

"You know, it might just've been a day ago, but it feels like two month since I broke out of that dreadfully dreary prison ship to have my proper freedom returned to be in the form of an equally dreary task of watching these mongrels load crates for a half a day. Tch. Who let's breaks someone out of jail and just leaves them hanging for that long. That's the move of a real bastard, I tell you Neo. Say this person writes for other peoples' amusement, promising to update the next day. Then they stay silent for two months doing who knows what. That's just irresponsible. That's what she's being like right now Neo. Irresponsible. With my feelings. And my time!"

Neo smacked her lips and gave no response. She didn't care. That was fine with Torchwick; he was never quite sure if he was talking to her or at her, but after some point it didn't really matter.

The lazy afternoon sun hung low over the docks were the tide came in with lethargic oscillations, like the sea was tired of holding the weight of so many ships. Their warehouse was just one of the innumerable many that crowded the district, the brick building indistinguishable from air or ground.

The tide shook back and forth. Remnant turned ever so slightly. Time passed. Torchwick was bored.

Sometime past the second hour, Torchwick found himself gleaning what little excitement he could from chucking pebbles at the back of the Fang movers heads as he counted how many veins started to bulge in their withheld rage. "Why is she having me do this. You sure. I know you would love this job since its barely a job and you can lounge about eating that stuff all day without gaining a pound. But me! Torchwick! A-ho-ho! Leaving me here with you to be a glorified daycare manager. It really makes you wonder doesn't it. She leaves me rotting away in a cell for a month and keeps that rot going even after she frees me. Who does that?"

Neo's bucket was now empty. Patting her lips with her handkerchief, Neo lifted her arms reaching for the ceiling in a shrug-stretch that gave Torchwick no indication that she was listening.

"Do you think she's gotten lazy. Started putting this plan off? Maybe that's why she's acting the way she is. Because she just can't be bothered to get anything finished. Or maybe she's just making this all up as she goes along." Torchwick stopped to consider the implications of following someone like himself. "Maybe she has no idea what she's doing at all. Why else would she leave me with the charge of the most paramount of worthless tasks."

Neo barely spared him a glance as she opened and closed her umbrella, testing it for effectiveness. _Perhaps she thinks your useless_. _Perhaps she might be right_ , Torchwick imagines Neo chide him in that oh-so teasing voice that he pretends she has.

Torchwick scoffed. "But how could that be Neo! I'm Torchwick. My smuggling is what allows have of anything to happen in the first place. Are you telling me that my contributions are lesser than the two brats she has? What'd they do? Kill a shopkeeper. If you start getting villain awards for that I might as well hang up my hat now and start a Ursa farm.

Still, she gave him no heed. More and more Fang began to file in and out of the room. She gave them no heed either.

"You know," Torchwick said, "maybe I've gone insane. Maybe I'm still up in the sky in the General's little ship rocking back and forth and muttering to myself. Maybe this boring task was something I made up to escape from my actual madness induced by boredom. Maybe all this freedom is just an illusion and I am but a meager serf to the whims of another's game." With a dramatic flourish Torchwick brought the back of his hand to the forehead as he openly shared his woe with Neo.

"We're done," said a burly Ox Fang.

"Hm," Torchwick said. "Yeah sure whatever. Beat it."

Breathing in deep as to not murder the human in a violent frenzy, the Ox Fanus pulled out a scroll to give to Torchwick. "Not yet. Brother Adam says he wants to talk you. I'd tell a wiser fellow to mind their tongue with him but fools aren't worth the spit and effort."

"That's a good policy," Torchwick said, as he took the scroll and patted the Fang over the horns in a manner so condescending that it was by an inch of willpower alone that there wasn't blood spilled in that warehouse that night. "Figured that out so quickly on you own? Must've been your experience with the others of your kind that are more animal. You, my friend, might one day make it to the circus and find company with less-stupid of your kind. Now scuttle along little cow. I got to talk to someone that matters."

The Fang stomped away as the scroll came alight.

"What's up ram-guy? Or are you a bull? There much a difference between those two animals? Eat grass. Defecate. Die. Why're you calling?"

Adam's disgust and hate bleed through the thin mask like it wasn't even there. "Cinder."

It took Torchwick a few seconds to realize that Adam had effectively ended his end of the conversation. "Really. One word sentences. Cinder, what, has the flu. Bought a lamb? Is giving you a raise? Decided to get a dress more scandalous than the last?"

"No," Adam said. "I want to know what she's doing."

Was Adam being serious with him? "Well, Bullwinkle, I can clearly, certainly tell you that she hasn't told me anything other than to watch your minions move boxes around all day. You need to fire some of those guys by the way. Worst laborers I've ever seen. Why do you think she tells me anything?"

"Because I expected to hear back from her by now. I've been trying to contact her. There has been no answer."

Musing to himself, Torchwick threw out an easy solution. "Have you tried turning your scroll on and off?"

There was little doubt that Adam was glaring at him by this point. "It's not a connection problem. She's just not answering. This conversation is a waste of time." The scroll went black and blew apart in Torchwick's face, striking his aura before the metal fragments could get to his eyes.

"Delightful conversation," Torchwick muttered to himself. However, Adam did have a point: if Cinder wasn't nagging at either of them, what was she doing? She wouldn't just suddenly stop ordering people—Torchwick knew that from experience.

So, a question arises: just what was Cinder doing?

…

There are many variables that could derail a plan. Cinder knew of these risks when she embarked on her quest for power. She thought she planned for every possibility. She thought she foresaw every outcome. She thought she realized every eventuality.

She thought that Saitama's arrival was to be her only error. She altered her course accordingly for changes to come and plots to spring.

Yet, like in battles and fights, it is the small details that are never seen that cause the most devastation to carefully structured plan.

Like being forced to join a fraternity for instance.

"Excuse me?" Cinder said, keeping her voice as even as possible.

"You all," Sky said, waving his index finger across the faces of all those present before him, "have to sign the oath of omerta before the Perversion Artists Society. You must never speak of this and with your fates bound to ours, we can be sure of this."

She looked at Sky as he continued making noise that sounded akin to words. She really couldn't understand him past the stupidity.

"What?"

"I don't understand what's so hard to understand about what I'm saying lady! You! Join! Us! Otherwise! Detention!"

Nods followed with Sky's declaration. It soon became clear to Cinder and her companions that they have been expose to what could be the most ludicrous cult imaginable. This would be a wrong assumption as the Perversion Artists Society would always be racing for third best behind the League of the Ass Waxers in Vacuo, who's own members have had multiple misunderstandings regarding which 'ass,' while a few of their more peculiar members ended up creatively interpreting the 'wax' bit as well.

Beset by such an unexpected predicament, Cinder found herself in an alien place. This alien place had been steadily growing more familiar to her in the past few months. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a small portion of her had taken to deeming event and operations post and pre-bald despite her best attempts to repress the thoughts of the monster who now disrupted every aspect of her schemes.

"We will have you sworn in through the ceremony. Do you have twenty lien?"

Emerald gave Sky a disappointed look. "Is this ceremony based entirely on paying you something."

"Art," boomed a voice far too dramatically, "needs patrons!"

From through the opened wall strode Cardin Winchester with an ill fitted beanie atop his head, concealing the missing strips of hair taken from him.

"Is this seriously happening?" Emerald hissed to the back of Cinder's head.

"Of course," Cardin said as he approached them with his hand behind his back. He approached them with the stance of a proud dictator addressing his troops. He look more like a man in desperate need of a toilet. "Don't lie; you've already gazed into my sanctum; my sanctuary. You've seen far to me to return to your humbler world now. It's like the journey, the monomyth that Port keeps rambling about."

"Drawing disgusting drawings of the bald idiot is like the monomyth?" This didn't make any sense to Emerald. "How?"

Like a feral animal, Cardin growled under his breath. "It's not disgusting. There was a lot of work put into the art. And it's a homage. There is respect in it. To the man that we all wish to be."

"The man we all wish to be," mumbled the rest of the Perversion Artists Society—students of every grade and both sexes; all human, no Faunus.

"How cult like," Cinder said, unimpressed. "Listen, Cardin, I understand that you think I have time for this little…club of yours but the fact is that you men launched someone through my wall. So, if you could kindly leave my room, we can all forget this ever happened so I can forget where your based at and not tell the professors."

A very hyena like laugh made Cinder's annoyance rise. "You think we operate out this room?" Cardin said. "This is just one of the many rooms that we have to peddle the material. Take one down and two more shall rise in its place."

"Two more rooms?" Emerald asked.

"What? No it's a metaphor."

Emerald shook her head, amazed at the amount of stupid she was faced with. "That metaphor doesn't make any sense. You don't get two more rooms when you lose one."

"That's not the point," Cardin said, not willing to engage in a losing argument. "The point is that you don't have anything on me, but I, well…"

Drawing a notepad from his hip and spinning a pencil in his hand like he was some deviant artist gunslinger, Cardin flashed a smirk and snapped a quick glance at the two girls before him. Like frenzied whips of graceful rivers guided by the path of the wind, his strokes rained down on the paper with purpose and precision, completely unfitting of his manner of fighting and crude understanding of rudimentary tactics. In that moment, the Cardin that everyone was familiar with faded from existence, and in his place stood a maestro-a giant. With a pencil, some paper, and his fingers, he alone held the ability to shift the images of others through creation and design.

With a final blow from his pencil, Cardin was drenched in sweat and spent of effort, but his newest masterpiece was done: the Saitama Triumphant was complete. This time, the pictures didn't contain Ironwood or Qrow, but instead Emerald and Cinder, drawn with only the chains and strategic posing protecting their intimates. More alarmingly, he got their dimensions down to the most minute level; the art was beyond meticulous, entering disturbing. Both Cinder and Emerald were grasping on to the hardened quads of Saitama, abs and bald head practically glowing in picture while in his hands he held the chains to both the girls.

"So what do you think about it?" Cardin asked with a prideful smirk.

"You're actually the one behind the drawings," Emerald said, completely dumbstruck. "I—I didn't think you had it in you."

Steam began to rise off Cinder's body as her empty eyes devoured the picture and fed her hate. She was drawn to be beneath Saitama; a slave to him in a picture, an affectionate pet at best. "You put me below him." Cinder said. Only Emerald heard her.

Then, like so many times before, Cinder reached out to seize her destiny. This time, she did it literally. Cardin's throat shrunk three sizes that day.

…

"Yang?"

Holding a finger up as a signal for everyone to wait, Yang laid a knuckle over her lips. "Yep. Managed to swallow it. Crisis averted everyone and—NO! Why! Why would anyone do this!" Snatching the art off the ground—half intact with Saitama holding Qrow in chains-she stomped around the room shaking the paper viciously as if it owed her money. "This is gross. This is beyond gross. This…this…" Yang stopped pacing and unleashed a bright grin. "This is amazing. Dad is going to wet himself when he sees this." When her scroll came out, Qrow had to suppress the urge to jump over and cut the device in half. Again. He didn't want to get into that again.

"Yang…" Qrow's voice dropped low.

"Whoops," said Yang as her finger came down on the picture icon. "Did I do that?" The way her shoulders came up as a mocking shrug grinded Qrow's gears more than her words ever will. Why did she have to tease him like Raven did in their childhood?

"Gonna be hard to pass the class now, spitfire," Qrow said.

"Hey, now that's being dirty. Besides, I wasn't the one who drew these pictures. Can't blame me for their existence."

"That's actually why we're here," Saitama said. "We're trying to find whoever's drawing these things so that our lives can go back to normal and Qrow and Ironwood can continue glaring deep into each other's eyes without these weird drawings flashing through our minds."

Unconsciously, the mere mention of the images made Qrow and Ironwood retreat against opposing walls; if they pushed away any further they would have burst into the other rooms.

"Uh huh," her smirk was one that preluded the chewing of popcorn; Yang yearned for the chaos to inevitably erupt. "So how do you plan on finding this perpetrator?"

"It will likely be a difficult task," said Ironwood pulling a small round object out from his pocket, "but you stand a better chance at infiltration than one of us."

Blake inched away from Ironwood and the small object as a cat would from a looming shadow preceding a predator. "What is that?"

"A bug."

"A bug?" voiced Qrow, Blake, Ruby, and Weiss concurrently in a concert of tones all questioning the necessity of the device.

"This is a Model-X Ladybu—"

"No." Blake knew what was coming next. She could feel the request hiding behind that wall of exposition regarding how safe, secure, or full of lasers the little black dot possessed in its arsenal. "I don't care what you're going to offer us, I am not spying for you."

The very thought of spies sent a shiver of disgust down her back. Some nights she still had nightmares of the howling screams of duplicitous ex-comrades hung from trees and left for the Grimm after they were discovered by Adam.

"I understand that I am asking much from you," Ironwood began, almost pleading. "But it's for a good cause."

"Lec—General," Pyrrha asked. It was clear that she was having a hard time processing why the matter was regarded with such severity. "Don't you think these actions you're taking are a bit extreme."

"You wouldn't be questioning me if it was you on the picture!" Ironwood snapped. "I don't want to ever be drawn holding Qrow that way again. Or between Saitama's legs like some kind of pleasure couch."

Stunned silence. Qrow covered his face with both hands, unable to face anyone at all. Saitama found solace in the floor; at least it wouldn't mock him for his shame. Ironwood took a breath and sighed. "I'm sorry. I've…this has all been a stressful week for me." This wasn't like him. This wasn't like him at all. The drawings have just been the straw that broke his back after all the other suffering he was put through this week. "We shouldn't have involved you kids. This isn't right."

His gloved hand closed around the bug, crushing it. Sullen, he handed it the Qrow for the other man to deal with as the final vestiges of his resolve had run out. Ironwood fell wearily upon Yang's chair, spent of will.

"You're right," Qrow said with a sigh. They've all been overreacting far too much. "we can't force the kids to help us. It's our problem." With that he tossed the crushed bug towards the waste bin with the flick of his fingers.

And with that brief flick and a sudden shift in the realm of fortune, Winter arrived just behind Nora where to door was open, at just the right angle form the bin.

Ricocheting off the side of the trashcan in some bizarre fashion that could only be described as misfortune focused into a shotgun blast towards a singular person, the bug shot off the side of the bin and upwards.

Winter was halfway through uttering her sister's name when her throat was delightfully shoved full of broken electronics and plastic. She soon found it stuck and unable to be dislodged as well.

Hacking at first in confusion and then in alarm, Winter reached at her own throat in frantic pulls in an attempt to force the piece out to no avail. Summoning all his medical experience from that one time in fifth grade, Saitama unveiled his inner hero again and came in to get behind Winter and pull at her stomach, vaguely recalling maneuvers unused since grade school.

Fingers almost laced together around the front of her belly, Saitama struggled to remember the maneuver that he had to practice that one time during health education class ten years ago. However, before he could pull, he felt a slight pressure wrap around his arms, struggling to stop him.

"No!" cried Ironwood, terror in his eyes.

"I'm trying to help her," said Saitama still holding on to Winter.

"I want her organs to stay inside of her!"

"Professors, maybe I could help?" Pyrrha moved forward tentatively, trying to focus her magnetism to pull out the metal pieces currently stuck in Winter's windpipe. "Professors?"

Qrow stated pulling up his sleeves as he approached Winter the front with a lecherous smile. "You guys stay there. I got this"

Realizing who was about to come to her rescue, Winter's alarm faded into cold anger as she tried to draw her blades on Qrow even as her face grew red and vision grew dim. Though air was still denied passage out from her throat, though her vision was dimming and her mind grew weak, Winter drew upon the deep pool of hatred that fueled her consciousness. She would die before she let that drunk bastard sully her person with his fingers.

Taking a stance that could only be replicated by a professional duelist on the verge of passing out—parts professional, stiff, and on the brink of collapsing—Winter twitched her way over in a pained effort to take Qrow with her to the great beyond.

With insulting nonchalance, Qrow waited until the very last minute, mocking her like the last time they crossed blades. Then, as the edge of her hate was nearly upon him, he suddenly duck out of the way.

Pirouetting to reacquire her target, Winter ended up causing Saitama and Ironwood to stumble forward. Years of combat experience bolstered by extensive training made her body move on instinct. Of course, years of anything can be undone by a fading consciousness and Saitama's extended foot as he continued his debate with Ironwood regarding the risks of him trying to save her.

So it came to be that the smugness of Qrow was pitted against Winter stubborness. In another way of putting it, she tripped; fell, and her forehead met Qrow's loins in an impactful union signed at the end of a pop that cause Jaune and Ren to hop in synchronized sympathy.

The smirk on Qrow's face faded as he learned to suffer in another manner as Winter did. As he collapsed atop her back, knocking air into her windpipe where it remained sealed by the fragments of the bug, they fell the ground in a confused heap of limbs and grunts. Ironwood and Saitama stopped their argument. There really wasn't much more they could say after that.

"Master," Genos said, choosing a great time to appear at the doorway flanked by Penny and Robin. "I—what's wrong with them? Is the school under attack."

Throughout their history, in the many times that they talked, Saitama realized that he had a hard time explaining certain things to Genos. Most of the time it was because Saitama was making it up on the spot. This time, there really wasn't any easy way to describe the events that led to this instant. "No…she's was choking and then…she fell on Qrow."

Genos accepted this explanation without question. "I see." He turned back to look at Robin, who was enraptured by the sight of two grown adults in agony slapping flapping on each other like the walruses she used to watch on television with her mom.

"What's wrong with them?" Robin asked.

"One has sustained an impact to the testicles. Specialist Winter currently has a listening device stuck in her throat. How interesting," said Penny after a quick scan.

"What are testicles?" Robin asked.

"She doesn't need to know that yet," Ren said, interjecting before Penny could render Robin's soft supple mind into mush before she was ready.

"Qrow, stop flailing, you're making this difficult," Ironwood said. Helping Qrow's wasn't easy as the latter keep rolling on his back in agony. "Penny who is that girl?"

"This is Robin," Penny said, delighted to introduce her new ward. "We got her from the hospital."

Grunting with both exasperation and exertion, Ironwood finally pulled Qrow off Winter. "Penny, that's kidnapping. You can't just take people's children from hospitals."

Understanding Ironwood's confusion, Genos approached the general as he tried to get Winter back on her feet; she looked on the verge of blacking out. "General," Genos said standing far too close for Ironwood's comfort, "her parents are dead. A doctor transferred her guardianship to me."

Though that was to be a problem for another time, Ironwood could help but growl. It like there were just more problems coming his way every day. How the hell was he supposed to keep up this madness.

As he got Winter back on her and tugged at her stomach, Genos decided the heroic thing would be to involve himself and help. Being the blunt and combat oriented machine that he was, he took the direct and efficient approach without consulting anyone first.

He stuck two fingers into Winter's mouth, cold copper metal bringing her back from the brink of unconsciousness into a horrid, uncomfortable reality. Weiss gasped in horror. Ironwood meanwhile, was too busy trying to get Winter to heave to come up to give a damn.

"Genos, take your fingers out of her mouth!" Weiss was livid. She pushed on Genos as best as she could but his stance was more rigid than two metal fingers digging in someone's mouth. Winter reached for her saber but soon realized that it was no longer with her. She resorted to punching Genos the in face several times.

"Please stop," Genos said, as Winter's fist cracked against his cheek uselessly. "I am trying to help you. Pyrrha?"

"Yes?" said Pyrrha.

"Can you move the congestion further out of her throat. I am currently enlarging her windpipe with my fingers."

"…Of course," Pyrrha agreed. There wasn't much else she could say about this whole mess anyway.

At that exact same time that Pyrrha pulled with her polarity that Ironwood managed a tremendous heave on Winter's stomach. Thus, like a broken fire hydrant filled with saliva and parts from a covert listening device, the blockade burst loose out of Winter's mouth as sweet air reclaimed its rightful land.

The bug flew into the air like comet wrapped in a blanket of spit and mucus. In continued for a few more seconds as time seemed to slow for everyone. Fatefully, as karma works in cycles, the bug entered another throat.

Choking himself suddenly, Saitama gaped in disbelief at the turn of events. Ironwood place both hands on his face and tried not to go insane. Yang squealed in delight as the views on her scroll shot through the roof. The rest of the room just looked on in wonder if wonder was perpetually hexed with bad luck.

"What's going on?" Robin said, asking the important question that would get no answer.

As Qrow struggled a few times, trying to draw air in. He realized his efforts were futile and decided to combat this problem like he did most others in his life: he brought his flask up to him mouth and began to drink.

The pained noise that Ironwood made in response to that would have resonated with the last Dodo in existence watching its kind die out. "Qrow! The ladybug is flammable—"

On cue a pillar of fire shot out from Qrow's lips like he was some fire breathing beast. Saitama, reacting of reflex tried to cover Qrow's mouth but only cause more fire to curve off his hand and spread to the wooden desk. The sprinklers went off in the room as Qrow released whips of flames that licked at the ceiling, that tore at the very material of the building itself. Qrow's aura took major hits. If they didn't save him from himself soon, he would be burning for real.

Stumbling forward, Qrow leaned against the desk as Pyrrha tugged at the bug trying to get it out. Saitama, sensing his chance took his place behind Qrow and committed to a serious of consecutive light pulls on Qrow. However, with Qrow's constantly wiggling and stumbling, the pulls just ended up cracking one of his ribs instead.

Like a crumbling building, Qrow waddled away from the desk despite Saitama's insistence that he wasn't done. Unbeknownst to everyone, Zwei was jolted by the commotion and came crawling out from under the bed to see what was going on. Qrow promptly tripped over him.

Face first with fire still streaming out of his mouth, Qrow fell. His head met something soft and then he fell into a world of darkness with his hearing muffled. For a moment he thought he was dead or unconscious but something about the soft supple roundness that touched his ears was familiar to him.

Outside the prison that now held Qrow's head, Winter cried with indignation as fire erupted from under her blouse: Qrow had disappeared into her bosom.

"Look Ren," Nora said, "he's trying to siphon her power from her cleavage directly!"

"Not now Nora." Ren said as he and Jaune circled the Qrow-Winter, trying to keep it contained. Jaune soon received a backhand from an unaware Qrow for his efforts.

Aghast at the continued poor down trend of things, Saitama rushed forth to unsheathe Qrow from Winter's torn garments as the specialist had taken to hammer Qrow in the ribs and hopping to reach for her saber.

As Ironwoon tried to do the same thing by pulling Winter away, Qrow's feet began to kick violent as he tried to pull himself out but he ended up tripping over Zwei a second time. This time, both Winter, Qrow, and Ironwood—holding a death grip on Winter—went spiraling over, on top of Saitama.

The underside of Winter's blouse burst loose, just enough to fit a bald head inside. The resulting sight was akin to a horrifying parody of a children's cartoon where the heroes combined. This might have taken it too literally.

"Master!" Genos cried. As Saitama ran around the room knocking things over like a headless chicken. On the back of Winter still trying to make things better was Ironwood, now riding a mechanical bull raised to maximum intensity.

"Genos!" Ironwood cried as his human arm gave way but his augmented limb held on despite the whine of the metals as he twisted and torqued in different direction several times each second. "Try to knock his feet out from under him. It's the only chan-" Ironwood's head cracked against the ceiling and his eyeballs bounced in his head like a ping-pong ball. His metal arm disappeared down the same opening and got stuck somewhere between Qrow's face and Winter's chest.

Like the uncanniest juggernaut the world had ever seen, the Qrow-Winter-Ironwood-Saitama amalgamation stomped forward right past Yang and through the thick walls rendered to rumble by Saitama's unstoppable charge.

Determined, Genos mapped most probable path of destruction. "Penny, we must stop them. If we leave master on his current course, he will keep going indefinitely until he releases himself."

Penny agreed. "Suggestion: we should target Specialist Schnee's clothing. Its integrity is failing and should tear relatively easy."

"What?" Weiss said. Just what where they suggesting? "What! But that'll—Winter won't have clothes on top!"

"Yes," Genos said mistaking Weiss's indignation for understand. "That is the intention. We should follow behind them. Penny, after master passes through the rooms there will be few obstacles in our path to impede us. We can take that path." Pausing suddenly, Genos remembered another key detail that he was omitting. "Robin—" What was he going to do about her?

What a conundrum. He couldn't just leave the poor girl there in the room left in an unfamiliar place. That would look poorly on him as a guardian. Tossing her to RWBY for them to watch over would be extremely irresponsible as well. However, bringing her along for this dangerous encounter.

"Does this happen a lot here?" Robin asked. "You said this place was a school. I thought schools were supposed to be a safe place?"

"Your confusion is well-founded," Penny said, leaning over Robin to cover her from the sprinklers above. "Indeed, since the arrival of lecturer Saitama and Genos, the incidents have gone up a staggering forty percent while the damage fees have also tripled."

Robin's mouth formed a small o shape. "That's…a lot. Maybe we should go help."

If Genos were still back in his own world, there would have been no way that the others around him would have condoned the girl's interest in assisting in a possibly dangerous activity. However, Remnant is, for the lack of a better term, a death world built beyond the abject misery that was forced upon its peoples; sometimes people just had to let the kids join in on the murder and mayhem to keep things rolling along.

Walking out from under Penny, Robin picked up a scrap of Winter's blouse—a piece charred black and torn. "I think she's your sister, right?" Robin asked Weiss. "You two look alike."

"I-Yes."

"You might want to get her something to wear for later then." Robin's stare was focused intently on Weiss's chest before shaking her head disappointed. "Too flat," Robin muttered to herself as Weiss's jaw dropped while red rose through her face.

There must be someone else who could accommodate the clothing replacement. Robin's eyes fell on Yang's ample bosom. "Excuse me. Pretty blonde lady?"

"Yeah, squirt?" Yang said.

"Do you have any shirts to spare. You're the most likely to fit her."

Silent. A low giggle. "Well you sure do have all your bases covered, kid. Especially the busts."

"We should hurry," Ruby said, as more screams and walls echoed down through the ruined wall. "They're getting pretty far away now. Have to stop Uncle Qrow from choking?"

Some ten rooms down the hall the charge continued.

Grunting and winded, all Ironwood could do was hang on for the ride as Saitama roamed blind while trying to pull himself out of astounding durable threads that composed the remains of Winter's blouse. Beside him, Qrow sank down further and continued to breath fire as he choked.

"S-stop!" Winter cried whacking at the tumor-like bulges to no avail.

Through another dorm they entered and through the trash room did they exit, leaving exposed walls and screaming students behind them. Their charge continued with Ironwood serving as the ram for their meat-ship, Saitama the rudder, Winter the woeful captain, and Qrow the snoring adornment. The madness continued through several more rooms until Saitama tripped over a student's chair sending all four individuals into a tumble that can only be described as a hurricane, but with arms and a screaming specialist.

And further went the tumble until they finally ploughed through a final, fateful wall. Enwreathed in the dust of their arrival they looked akin to a beast of nightmare; a terrible creature with flickers of flame bursting forth from beneath, eight limbs and a screeching head. On its shoulder was slung General Ironwood, looking bruised and beaten from the ordeal.

A gathering of petrified students, Cinder—who was still strangling Cardin—all stopped dead in their tracks.

"Master," Genos said, finally catching as the of the entourage followed in his wake. "I have come to help yo—"

The many-personed beast tried to stand but Winter was too miserable; Saitama too confused; Qrow still choking; Ironwood on the brink of unconsciousness. From underneath Winter, Saitama plopped out along with Qrow in a manner resembling a disturbing birth of the most different looking twins in the world as the last strands of Winter's blouse gave way. Still shrouded by the dust, the Specialist scrambled to hide behind the curtain on the far side of the room for privacy.

At the same time, Ironwood found himself unslung from the trap of the blouse and rolling off the retreating Winter's shoulder. He made a landing on Qrow's chest that ejected the bug out of his throat and into Cinder's right eye, causing her to yelp in agony.

"Just what is going on here!" Glynda Goodwitch stormed down from the other side of the hall, branching her crop and flanked by Oobleck and Port. "We felt the commotion from the—"

The scene before her made no sense in her mind. Saitama sat on the ground, dust clearing around him to reveal a trove of deviant art with him as the central figure. Beside him, Qrow gasped for air as Ironwood lay atop him with his head on his chest. In the corner, a small girl was offering Winter a shirt with a ursa head on it. The rest of the room was filled with by teams RWBY and JNPR behind Genos and Penny, too late to do anything, a few dozen other students to shocked to move, and Cinder with one hand over her eye and the other one digging at Cardin's very soul.

Deep down insider, a voice of wisdom told Glynda that she didn't want to know what led up to this turn of affairs. Still she had to deal with the matter somehow. "D—de—de…" Glynda cleared her throat and mind as she struggled to find the proper words to throw at the miscreants.

She wanted to say detention. She really wanted to. The words just weren't coming out. They couldn't.

...

 **Note: Kept you waiting huh? In perfect honesty I am sorry that it took so long but gods damn me to hell I wasn't prepared for the amount of work and class that came my way. I have partially written the next chapter but the research study stalks me like the phantom of the opera that gives money and frowns when you don't do its work. Anyway, a thousand million apologies to the troopers here who have been waiting so long. I hear your suffering. It's definitely not giving me a stiffy or anything. And also, thanks for sticking with me all the way so far. This thing isn't done until I set a continent on fire and have the sea fight the sky. I may mean either or both of those things literally.**


	25. Short: Well, Shit

**Note: Not Mine. School and work finally done for a while. Dying. Update salvo coming in tomorrow. Jesus. I see Jesus. Anywhere here's some shit to pass the time until then.**

 **Short: Well, Shit**

As concrete and glass burst out in from the student dormitories as if they were sneezed out by a titan with allergies to bald people trapped in an officer's cleavage, Ozpin strolled out into the amphitheater, nonplussed and only vaguely aware of the ruckus.

The birds flocked to him by the chirps of Little John, tweeting away on his new master's shoulder, squealing promises wrought in blood and death and coffee should the other avians not heed the beck and call of the headmaster.

Towards the newly minted well Ozpin wandered, like a torturer entering his workshop, with only the platter of his feet announcing his arrival like a slow drum.

Where the statue of Hunters once stood, now was elevated a spectacle of marble and high pressure water, sprayed all over the two hunters and the Beowolf they were doing battle with. It reminded Ozpin of a theme park he went to a decade or so ago. Its design was equally appalling.

"Why would I have…" Ozpin puckered his lips. Little John noted the narrowing of his eyes and the furrowing of his brow. The well must have caused his master to be displeased. If Ozpin was displeased, then what would happen to Little John? The bird all but screeched for the murder of crows, of hawks, and of geese to lay waste to the fountain.

And lay waste they did.

Bird droppings are usually unimpressive, if a bit disgusting, but two-tons of anything condensed into a great artillery ball would do damage by sheer weight alone. And if Ozpin wasn't perplexed by why he installed the well by this point, then he certainly was regarding the massive ball of excrement donated by the birds to obliterate his newfound confusion.

Marble and putrid feces collided and both came apart in equal amounts, the excrement from its composition, the marble from the weight. Ozpin's brows reached a new height that day as Little John hopped with joy at his supposed success in appeasing them master. The crap knocked the marble statues and the monument far into the inner courtyard of Beacon and took its place, flowing down into the water like a thick yellow eruption of molasses that sank deep and clogged the pipes underneath.

Beneath Ozpin's feet, he heard something crack. He took a step back, just in time as a spear of water lanced through beneath him. More muffled cracks were heard all the way down towards Beacon as more lances of water burst loose in a series of concurrent pops that rose into the air like Beacon was a water park.

Then, as quickly as the waters rose, they stopped and began erupting excrement everywhere instead.

Beside him the birds continued to bombard the well to the beckoning of Little John. Their auras glowed the color of the rain. A rainbow that rained ass droppings at will. The sheer force and weight of their assault pushed the well into the ground and began to pollute the water pipes with filth.

Across the dorms, hundreds of students screamed, and some spat to get their mouths clean. It was not a good time to be showering or washing.

"Hm." Ozpin said thinking how Glynda would react. "Well, shit." Atop his shoulder Little John breathed proudly, glad to ward off another potential episode for his master.


	26. Escalation: Where the Plot Got Lost

_**Author's Note: I own these creations like a brick can fly.**_

 **Escalation: Where the Plot Got Lost and Needed to Find a Map**

There are somethings that even the greatest masterminds fail to foresee. For the great thieves of the Lupin Thirds, it was that stealing raw dust, though valuable, is a great way to obliterate yourself, especially when driving with it down a bumpy road. Other great minds found folly elsewhere, the legendary gunslinger Wayatt Tombstone realizing that he wasn't all that great against an endless sea of monsters after the bullets run empty; Groundy Anteaues the Terrason whom was known for being all but invincible due to his connection learning that he was less impressive while in the water before finally graduating to a full disappointment after he finished drowning; even Yue Zi, the greatest strategist Remnant had ever known, renown for boasting of her unsurpassed brilliance found her end after one too many cakes in quick succession.

Then there is Salem. Salem, a being whose nature may be beyond understanding for all of Remnant, who's mind grasped the fibers of reality better than anyone else in this universe, who could weave any plot and break any will with the barest of ease, found herself beset with annoyance for the first time in a millennium when that sorry excuse for a great beast returned all too prematurely.

"You got lost." This was more of a statement than a question. Salem just wanted to hear the humiliating details.

The looming shadow once trapped in the moon lower its head as it began to sweat hives of off wasp-like horrors out every pore under the looming gaze of its master. A few water-rippling grumbles confirmed the Salem's shame.

"Atlas occupies an entire continent. Continents are large. Large things are hard to miss. You shouldn't miss a continent. I shouldn't need to be telling this to you with a syllogism, dear."

The Moonspawn whined. It sounded like a storm was crying.

Salem's irises grew dangerously bright in indigence. "So the fact that you realized you were flying in circles makes this acceptable."

It stopped whining and lowered its head to the ground; it much liked being able to fly around—being trapped in the moon again would be a real pain. Salem wiggled a single finger as a Nevermore landed next to her. With a tap of her finger, the monochrome colors shifted on the avian to paint the image of a map on its back with the presence of the Moonspawn glowing dark amidst the white bone. "Follow the path on this one's back. Get to Atlas. Go on then. Off with you."

Shooing the sky-covering shadow like it was but a flea, Salem shook her head as a grandmother would to children on a playground. Entering her domain, walking down that long empty stone hall lighted only by the pale purple veins of corrupted dust, Salem fought down a sigh. It wasn't as if she wanted her residence to resemble the front page of hypothetical magazine titled 'Evil Bastards Weekly' but the hollow had to spread, had to hollow out everything to draw more power into the dust. She succeeded to well for that.

Trudging back into the meeting room, only slightly less spartan than the hallway leading two it, Salem made her way to the seat at the end of the table.

"Gentlem—" Salem bashed her shin against a table leg interrupting herself. "Gentlemen," she said without any interruption, "I apologize for the interruption."

"No apology needed," Tyrion said, nearly foaming. He foamed out several more sentences that likely mad sense to an asylum patient somewhere. Salem wasn't actually listening. She never did with Tyrion; he never had anything of merit to say most the time anyway. Truth be told, a major reason she kept him around was just for the amusement of watching him sting foolhardy adventurers who had a tendency to invade her abode. Their death-convulses gave her endless glee for whatever reason. Perhaps she was just bored.

As Tyrion finally ended his long diatribe on her glory, Salem's mind turned back on in anticipation for the proper discussion to begin. "Forgive me for my prying and perhaps this may only be my impatience getting the better of me," began one Dr. Arthur Watts, brilliant omnidisciplinary doctor, master maintainer of a grand mustache, masterful torturer and connoisseur of exotic teas, "but it has been far too long since you've informed of us of any…progress the attempt to procure the rest of the maiden essence."

"Yes," said a mountain of muscle known to few as Hazel Reinhart and even fewer as Hazel Pec-hard during his powerlifting days. Yes was usually the only word he said. People usually thought Hazel was the strong silent type. Salem, on the other hand, realized that where Hazel was diligent in working his body, he was inversely averse to working his mouth. As such, his indolence in speech had him use Arthur as a bulwark to speak for him. Even Salem could appreciate that kind of laziness.

"That's because I have no news to bring," Salem said. "I've heard nothing since the last time Cinder had contacted me. The plan is, indeed, behind schedule."

"Should the tournament be proceeding along now?" asked Arthur, mustache bouncing to the beat of his words; he would never know how much Salem enjoyed watch his facial hard wabble in the air like a large brush.

"Delayed," said Hazel, swiping his scroll to project a series of news articles in a holographic-display format so that all in the room mays see. Between the White Fang attacks, the damages recently sustained by Beacon and a heightened security situation between Vale and Atlas due to recent terrorism, the event had indeed been postponed.

"So, it seems that our wayward little agent has been neglectful in more duties than one," said Arthur.

"Perhaps," Salem replied. "Or perhaps she is adapting to potential complications and adjusting her plan accordingly."

Arthur huffed. "I do sincerely hope your faith is well-placed madam."

"Oh could there be any doubt that it is." Salem's smile was sweet and sharp, like a sword coated in honey that would still doubtless cut to the quick. "After all, and above all, she has a vested self-interest in making this venture…a successful one."

"Yes," said Hazel, flexing under his shirt in agreement.

"Mistress," Tyrion said with stinger flailing about behind him, "I could go. Pose as a student as she did—keep a close on her—persuade her to hurry yes!"

Silence. In the absence of crickets, the wind cooed along the empty outside. Six eyes were upon Tyrion, considering his statement.

The vigil then broke apart with Dr. Watts mocking laughter, who cawed in short condescending bursts of three. Hazel, who could remain taciturn in most situations found his weakness in that absurd laughter of his colleagues. Unlike how most people laughed, Hazel's began with the hardening of his abs, followed by the straightening of his back. "Ha. Yes." Hazel unleashed his mirth in a dull laugh releasing months of stone-faced tension.

Course the one shaking the hardest was Salem herself, hiding her lips under a single hand as she tried to imagine Tyrion attempting to blend in with the student population. Murder, like most thoughts associated with Tyrion quickly filled her mind. Oh those poor students. "Oh Tyrion. You're absolutely precious."

"Hehehehe," Tyrion began laughing along. As long as the mistress was happy, he was doing his job. It doesn't matter what the other fools thought of him, he made the mistress happy and that was good enough. That was what he kept telling himself anyway.

"Give Cinder her due time," Salem said. "I will make adjustments of my own should the need arise. Regardless, I am certain that she is doing everything she can to further the completion of our task, even at this very moment."

…

Cinder continued to choke Cardin's surprisingly durable head against the rapidly parting wooden flooring. "He's never above me. You're wrong. I will be above him. I will be above all of you," Cinder hissed to the purple faced artist of lewd as hellish fire crawled out of her eyes.

"Cinder," Emerald whispered trying to get her attention. "Cinder. There's a bit of problem."

"I'll be done soon," Cinder said redoubling her strangling efforts.

Outside a long line of broken walls, Glynda stood trying to translate the words in her mind to the real world. "De-detttennn…"

The broken word repeated in her throat like a bad remix of a popular song done by an overenthusiastic amateur trying to impress their friends who just wanted to leave. "De-de-de-de-deten—deten…." said Glynda, all but gargling each syllable in broken segments.

Then, like fixing an old-fashioned television through percussive maintenance, Oobleck lightly tapped Glynda twice on her shoulder. "Detention!" the words broke free like she was possessed by the spirit of emancipation, far louder than anyone expected. She cleared her throat. "Thank you Professor Oobleck."

"Hmmm yes of course, faculty must look after each other in times of..eh..crisis."

Holding those before her with severe contempt in her eyes, Glynda glared at all the trouble-makers before like they were the usual suspects in a line-up. She reserved a special amount of venom for Saitama and Qrow, still trying to find his way back to his feet. "Would anyone like to explain. No." She telekinetically pushed down on her pulsing vein on the side of her forehead conspiring with her facial muscles to tear loose from the prison that was Glynda's resting frown. "I don't want to hear this from you. Specialist Schnee, I didn't realize you were coming today. Welcome to Beacon."

Emerging from behind the curtain just in time to get away for a spew of bird feces to spray upwards against the outer window from the outside. Winter decided it was best that she didn't acknowledge that for now and focus on the task at hand. "Beacon has an interesting way of welcoming people," Winter said, words bearing a chill rivalling her name.

"Would you like to explain the events that transpired to bring you to wear that ill-fitting shirt."

Winter contemplated her answer. "It resembled something between an assault, harassment, kidnapping, and a rescue. At once. Simultaneously."

"Master was trying to hel—" Genos, and by proxy the rest of the room was taken by surprise when Winter all but rammed her index and middle finger down into his throat. "Phflll afflllaal," said Genos still trying to talk.

"Specialist Schnee? What are you doing?" asked Glynda

Slowly, Winter retracted her fingers from Genos's open mouth and met the cyborg unblinkingly. "I was returning a favor owed."

Glynda narrowed her eyes in confusion. "What?"

"The circumstances don't entirely match," said Genos. "I did not have any obstructions in my throat for you to take out."

"I wouldn't have needed you to take it out if it didn't get thrown into my mouth."

"Thrown into your mouth?" Genos asked. "Who would do that?"

"It wasn't intentional," Qrow muttered. It took him a few seconds to realize that all the eyes in the room were on him. "Dammit people. It was an accident."

Glynda's eyes grew narrower. "You accidentally threw a…."

"Listening bug," said Saitama, trying to be helpful.

"You accidentally threw a bug into her throat?" Glynda's eyes became slants and all but disappeared sweat came down her forehead like a curtain as she struggled, physically, to piece together the information coming her way. "Why? Where did you get the bug? How did you accidentally throw it? How did you get here? And what is this—" Glynda impaled a piece of paper nearest to her and brought up to her eyes for further scrutiny and scowling.

The scrutiny continued but scowl all but dissolved. Those gathered that day would bring vastly differing stories and tales to life later in life on the day that the stars turned to ice, of the day that the Grimm fled from humanity, of the day when atoms became popcorn and the seas turned to lemonade; the day the beheld a blush manifest upon the cheeks of the dread-witch Glynda. "Th—this…" the temporary panic made her lose hold of the paper and the winds took hold her shame like a hook would a fish. Across the room fate led the papers as Glynda made a half-yelp as she gave chase; into the palm of one Ruby Rose it was bestowed like a gift.

The young huntress's head tilted, and then straightened. Her youthful light darkened momentarily in her eyes as she took in the truth of humanity, of man's inhumanity to man, of an incarnation of Glynda restrained with lust and pleasure with tight leather and riding crops a plenty, and Saitama wearing not nearly enough. Ruby huffed slightly. "THIS IS FILTH!" The scream exploded out from her so loud it jolted Cinder out of her quest to finish strangling Cardin. A burst of flower petals were left in her wake momentarily before Ruby reappeared with Crescent Rose in one hand and the filth-scribbles in the other. She brought her scythe through the paper a thousand times in a blink, and fired her gun at the fluttering pieces and then shot the ashes some more. "And that handles that—" the winds of fate turned the many pieces of paper carpeting the floor to reveal their own devilish inscriptions and tortures for Ruby's youthful innocence. "No…no! Lewd! Lewd everywhere! Yang help me! It's like I'm in Blake's dreams!"

In place of Blake, a shadow-clone was erect so that the original could escape off to hide from her shame. Yang patted her sister across the head with an ostentatious shake of her head, waiting for Ruby to bury her head into her bosom for the opportunity to mouth the words "Very nice. How much?" while pointing towards a particularly raunchy illustration at Cardin, downed, bleeding slightly from the neck but surprisingly still conscious. Unfortunately, conscious does not equal lucid.

"That one's easy, I can draw that in seconds," Cardin said, drunk on air entering his lungs again. "Ten lien is all." He stopped in his words. "Did I just say that out loud."

"Yep." Weiss replied, summing up just how likely he was about to ride the pain train. "You just admitted that you were the one drawing all this smut."

"Shit," Cardin said, summing up his fate just in time to a flock of birds flying away from campus.

Like a meat-seeking missile, Cinder tackled him down to ground again and began to burn at his throat. Cardin couldn't even scream as he felt fire began to build a residence of agony across the front of his neck. But, beyond the brightness from Cinder's burning palm and the shadows masking her face, Cardin could see a savior rise from behind his abuser. Cardin reached out, pleading for absolution from this searing fate. As if heeding his call, the figure approached, with flask in hand and purpose in stride.

The figure then promptly jerked Cinder off Cardin, and before the lewd-artist could give his thanks, began bashing his head into the ground with his flask. "Here. Let. Me. Help. You. Up." Qrow grunted the words out with every single blow, bouncing Cardin's skull from flask into wood then back into flask. "Whoops. Real. Drunk. Right. Now. Hands. Keep. Slipping."

It was pretty clear to everyone that Qrow was just beating him.

"Qrow," Ironwood said, finally shaking off the concussion from earlier, "Stop. You…I….I need to help him too."

"General," Cardin said with a tearful smile, happy that someone was still willing to fight for him, even now.

"Don't thank me yet, kid!" Ironwood shoved Qrow aside and began scrubbing the wood on the floor apart with the side of Cardin's face. "You're real slippery to help up." Ironwood was also clearly lying as he was very visibly pushing Cardin's face down into the ground. Not to be outdone, Qrow returned to pour the contents from his flask into Cardin's eyes. "This'll wake you up."

The rest of the room was uncertain what to do. On some level, they were sure this was brutality and grounds for a case in court. On another, this was Cardin. To say that no one helped Cardin in any way beyond watch is a statement as accurate as a wheel being rather round. Repeatedly, concurrently, brutally the two wronged men bounced Cardin's head against the ground while belting out salvos of ostensible apologies about how their hands keep slipping while trying to help him.

"C-can they do that?" Weiss asked.

Winter looked around the room. "I don't see any cameras."

"Not in that way, Winter."

"James! Qrow! Enough." Glynda commanded pulling the two off Cardin's pounded form as they continued apologizing angrily, outright slapping him a few times before they gave in to the pull. A flask sailed through the air and planted itself on Cardin's forehead. "Lecturer Saitama, why didn't you stop your fellow teachers?"

"Well," Saitama said rubbing his chin, "I thought that I should, but I remembered that he drew all this…weird gross stuff about me. So that doesn't make him innocent. But if I beat him up that would be definitely not be heroic. So I decided that I would do nothing. Since that would make the most sense." Genos scribbled every word of what his master said down for later reference.

"What are you writing?" asked Robin.

"A journal to be a better hero, by the words of master."

The young girl looked dubiously at Saitama and back at Genos. "Can I see."

"Of course. After I'm done." As he finished his final few strokes, he lowered the book slowly into Robin's hands for the young girl to scan. A very visible frown grew over her face as she went over the words with some difficulty from reading the cursive.

"Are you displeased?" Penny asked her.

"No," Robin said honestly, Saitama being scolded by Glynda along with Qrow, Cinder, and Ironwood. "Mommy said that everyone has their own problems."

"Alright. Everyone go back to your dorms." Glynda looked ready to collapse.

"There're holes in our walls," complained some students.

"I paid four Lien for no drawing," whined another.

"There's weird crap coming out the shower," cursed Mercury in but a towel as filth chased him out from the room.

With a flicker of her crop, the wall reconstructed themselves under her meticulous glare, no piece missing, wounds unmade. The papers were draw into the air and ordered into stacks of evidence that she floated over into Port's arms for safe keeping. Finally, she shut the door and blocked the flow of filth from Cinder's room. She was a woman of many talents but that was a task best suited for a plumber.

"You," she pointed at Saitama, "you," Qrow, "you" Cinder, "you," Ironwood, "you," Cardin, "you," Winter, "and all of you," she directed her gaze at teams RWBY and JNPR along with Genos, Penny, and Robin. "Come with me. Now."

In a universe where people could weaponized tones, hers would empty the stars of life and hope. They followed her without another word.

Out the building into the open they left, Glynda at the front, flanked by Port and Oobleck along with their suspects. "My word," Port said, gasping in horror at the series of spray eruptions of bird excrement currently sullying the grounds across the campus. All mouths except one dropped open in disgust and quickly closed to not get any of said disgust down their throats. Glynda took no notice of that nonsense in favor of dealing with the one at hand; she was a woman possessed by one desire and one only: to get through the day without another mental breakdown.

Along the way, she stormed past an awkward looking Ozpin trying to seem natural amid the chaos. "Professor Goodwitch—ah—this was a peculiar incident—a flock of birds—"

"Not now Headmaster," she said tersely before leading her group off. As the convoy drifted past the Headmasters of Beacon, he made eye contact with Ironwood and Qrow and lifted his mug in acknowledgment of their sacrifice.

"Saitama," Ozpin said, causing Saitama to stop of a moment. "She's not that bad. You will all be fine."

The bald hero just nodded. "I know. She just stressed. We're probably not helping."

Ozpin took a deep gulp of his coffee as the fountains of feces showed no signs of stopping. "No. We probably aren't."

…

 **Author's Babbles:**

 _ **So I understand that I have been on and off on the schedule recently, but I am finally getting back into the swing of things after a long campaign of work and schooling. Work right now has been a real pain recently as I got to get up whenever they call me to chase after the happenings around town. It's a weird gig. I do weird gigs. I like em'. Anyway, you'll probably be getting the 3-4k nightly updates format soon as I get my spare time back from the debt office. Just want to say that I have to thank you all for reading. Over a 1K of likes and interests. Glad I could make that many of you happy, if just for a bit. World's been going through a rough patch recently, and things might suck and sting of a bit but if it hurts, it's probably a good sign; pain means your still in the fight and it isn't over yet. Just keep going, and have as much fun as you can. You owe it to yourselves. Also, I have to thank my beta**_ _ **YUIOP10**_ _ **for sticking around as long as he did. He helped edit a lot of the better, less mistake ridden chapters. Till we**_ _**meet again.**_


	27. Escalation: Get Baldy

**Author's Note: No owning of any kind. Not until I start making my own stuff.**

 **Escalation: Get Baldy**

The once feared Spine was broken. Only the base remained.

Rex awoke to a thud. Squeezing his eyes in exhaustion, he turned over, his weight causing the steel-reinforced bed to groan and bend. Several more thuds followed. Then another. A pause. And finally another. Eventually, each successive smack and lull became so frequent that it seemed that someone was calling to him in Morse code.

Fling the blankets off his body and stomping over to the window, Rex pulled his Rocket-Axe out from where it was imbedded in the wall. "Told them…disturb my sleep…I'll kill them. Make examples."

He got within an inch of the window before a gaggle of his men smashed through the glass and broke themselves on his still frowning face. As they crumpled upon the window, Rex's frown deepened.

Stepping out on his grand balcony, he could hear a distant cry of "Strike," as he noticed a few changes dealt to his fortress since the last he remembered.

"What happen," said Rex, still trying to understand what he was seeing. "Rex don't get."

"And the wind speed is…uh…." Snoopes fumbled with his words.

"Just make something up, Snoopes," said Metal Bat, "got to keep the golf feel going, otherwise this shot won't be as good."

"Forty, giga…notts, heading east towards Atlas. It looks like it might rain later but Rex probably won't be there to see it?

"More official sounding, Snoopes. Come on, you can do better than that."

With a solid thwack and a pump of his fist, Metal Bat grinned as Horse Bone leapt triumphantly off the end of his bat to go sailing into Rex's face, horse-head first. A battle of attrition between two disparately hard skulls ensued.

Through the ringing of his eardrums from the sonic blast that Horse-Bone had generated, Rex could almost swear he a hellish neigh assail his very aura. However, it seemed that the universal motion of the world hated horse-headed cosplayers that day and Horse-Bone was spiked down against all reason right into Rex's knee.

Rex liked his knees. They were a good part of his body, connecting his massive thighs to his spindly legs and let him stand and stuff. He was less impressed with his short arms as he reached out for his massive hands to grab Horse-Bone on its way up but found only the open air.

Horse-Bone ricocheted off his ceiling, against his balcony's rails, back into the ceiling before being punted a second time. Through the air it flew—smashing through debris and bringing further harm to the writhing bodies of the thugs that failed to hold the exterior of the Spine.

All the way back, Horse Bone tumbled and bounced the way he came bouncing across toppled battlements and shattered walls of tempered steel, tumbling over the still wounded and mostly broken bodies of Rex's men as they let out an orchestra of anguished cries."

"Uselesses! Gets up! Gets up now! Fighting here! Stand and claim honor!"

Rex was a whiplash inducing combination of inspiring and terrifying to his thugs; an equal amount of stupid and charismatic; a matching degree of slow in mind but quick in the flesh. But despite how much they feared and respected him, there wasn't much an army of half broken men could do with no skeletal structure allowing them to stand.

"Agghh!" Rex stamped his feet as the floor began to come apart. "Stupids. All stupids. Not standing means Rex has to fight alone! Again! Rex eat all food alone again then! As pun-punish! Ha! You regret now?"

Groans remained as the only answer.

"Hey, Horse-Bone, you okay?" Metal Bat asked. Horse-Bone's head was on backward and it was currently wandering around completely lost. "Wait. Stay still. Let me fix your head. Then, I'll go give this guy a good whacking."

"Hey, boss," said Snoopes, eyes widening.

"What?"

"You might want to set your friend's head back real quick cause we might have a rocket coming our way."

Most Huntsmen and Huntresses modify their weapon to be versatile, to match any situation. In this sense, Rex was no different. What cut him from the rest of the cloth, however, was the way he went about his 'modifications.'

It took a very special individual to duct tape a dust enhancer to a rocket launcher to an rusted hunk of an axe.

The missile was by no means accurate and Rex's loose understanding of aim did not help his case all that much either. Still, it was going to hit close enough that it was probably going to at last spill a few pieces of shrapnel in the right direction.

"Tst." Metal Bat smirked as he got into a batter's stance. "Wait a while, Horse-Bone. Got a ball coming my way."

Loosening his muscles and breathing out, Metal Bat focused on the charging missile. He had to hit it just right. Too much and it would explode. Too little and it wouldn't be redirected. This would come down the inches, without any hiccups or failures.

The problem, though, with hiccups is that they come when they're least expected.

"Justice Rider Missile Counter Twist!"

"Mumen? What are you doing."

The rider sped ahead of Metal Bat with his front wheels reared in the air. He bounced off the ground several times, gaining more momentum each time before finally meeting the missile head on. At the last moment, Mumen turned his front wheel and trapped the missile between the bending tire of the bike. "I will direct the missile away," said Mumen Rider, "you help Horse-Bone. I can handle this."

Wrenching hard on the handle bars, Mumen Rider guided the missile back up towards Rex with iron-will and straining muscles. The massive faunus overlord scratched his thick messy beard. "This no make sense. Usually is boom when hit."

"Uh, boss," asked Snoopes. "Can your friend there…actually do anything. I remember he just kinda threw his bike around during the fight and took a couple of punches to the ribs before spending the rest of the ground."

"He will try," Metal Bat answered. "He will try very hard and then lose badly. We should try to get to him."

Across the sky Mumen Rider soared, his adrenaline matching his fear in equal measure. He wasn't sure what drove him to commit to such a foolish action, but there was no way he was going to let the beast hurt his friends while he could still fight. "Justice missile counter!" roared Mumen. There really wasn't much sense to him screaming random statements such as these, but they made him feel confident.

The missile met Rex's forehead at a speed that could peel the skin off a hawk. Then the missile dully plopped against the edge of the balcony and fell of before exploding somewhere below like momentum decided to have a holiday at that specific instant. Mumen was not included on this holiday. Bereft of a missile or a bike, the hero was launched from his seat into the far wall.

The resulting cracks told him that he just broke all his ribs.

Gasping through the pain, Mumen fought to stand back up as a shadow stole the light away from him.

Rex stood a bit short of eight feet and built like a bipedal tank. Long rows of serrated teeth kept his lips from ever closing as he looked down at the pathetic hero. A long coat of leather tanned from various creatures adorned Rex's body as flies patrolled around his unkempt, oily hair. Mumen smelt him before he saw him—and what a smell that was, like a garbage heap had puked into a sewer.

"Little human," Rex said, rage barely holding, "you crack wall of Rex room. Rex like room. You pay, but Rex don't think you have enough goodies in tight pants." The overlord pointed down at the fallen hero with his large hands mounted to short arms. "Get up. Rex have other payment method in mind."

Steading himself, Mumen rose in his own time.

"Quicker!" Rex said, fuming.

Obeying his command, Mumen between his knees and delivered a vicious kick to Rex's privates from behind. "Will Obliterator!"

Rex blinked, trying to figure where the hero had went and why he felt a breeze down below.

"Will Obliterator!" Mumen tried again, kicking harder this time.

Rex turned slowly. "What human yelling? Noisy. Stop."

The faunus's agility was inhuman. Before Mumen could even pull his leg away he felt his neck in a vice grip. Struggle as he might, he couldn't budge any of the fingers even with all his strength. A putrid breath washed over Mumen as Rex came in close. "You yelling while attacking. Rex try too. Shut up punch!"

Brightness. A feeling of freedom and liberation. Mumen felt all those things as gravity lost hold of him. A nice, numb feeling came over his jaw as he watched the ceiling speed past him like the scenery outside a train. There was a sense of peace within him as his brain bounced hard against his skull, calm that he had never felt.

Then the brain slammed right into the other side and throbbing agony was everything. Heaven had abandoned Mumen: he had fallen into hell.

Smashing against another wall midsection first did no favors for Mumen's ribs.

Sliding down against the floor, only pure adrenaline and instinct allowed him to roll out of the way over the axe swing. Rex was a strong combatant but gifted brilliant at being unskilled. His sloppy swing missed Mumen by the length of a car and he ended up smashing his pots instead.

"Pots. No. You pay for this too, human."

Throwing the hardest right hook he could muster, Mumen shifted all his bodyweight forward into his foe's face. When that did nothing, he threw another, and another, and another, until he could barely stand himself.

Not a hair was out of place on Rex's face. "Hur, tickles."

Only he called it the 'Hur, tickles.' Most of his soldiers referred to it as the nullifier—the ability to dispel forces met his aura, removing all damage and making him feel only the barest of tickles. This once-in-a-century semblance was the thing that made—and kept—Rex king beyond his strength and endurance.

"Wait. Me hate tickles!" roared Rex as Mumen Rider struggled to get back up. With a sloppy backhand that mostly missed Mumen's jaw, the hero went flying through his bed posts, smashing the wood apart and ripping the sheets.

Rivers of blood dripped out of Mumen's groaning lips.

"Ragghhh!" Rex shouted raging at his destroyed bed. "You break my sleep place. I hurt you good!"

Without any chance to recover, Mumen felt several large fingers dig into his neck as he was flung up into the ceiling. His back cracked hard against glass and stone as both shattered against him, denting his armor. He crashed down, a hurt heap of flesh, glass, and dust shivering against the ground.

With a tremoring laugh, Rex lifted his axe, preparing to finish Mumen for good, but as he looked up, he dropped his axe in dismay. "No. Me room light! Me favorite light! You break more things! I hurt you more."

Unwilling to be a continued participant of the free beating tour in Rex's room any longer, Mumen scrambled to get to his feet and fall back to a better position. Rex was much faster.

"Guh," cried Mumen something clenched his leg so hard he heard his ankle pop. Then, the world became a blur as he was pulled away from the comforting embrace of gravity.

Across the room, Rex used Mumen as a mallet, foolishly breaking more of his own things, getting madder, before blaming it on Mumen again. This cycle of pain continued until there was nothing left to break in the room and Mumen lay on the ground, armor in pieces, but surprisingly, still lucid enough to groan in pain, still alive enough to move.

"You break everything!" Rex seethed with more anger than he ever had in his entire life. "If you never come, I never need to get room broken with your stupid head!" With a bestial roar, Rex brought with the intent of finality in the blow.

But, at the last second, Mumen inched out of the way. The wounded hero bit back a scream as shrapnel from the blow bit into his cheek. Reaching down to his utility belt, Mumen knew that he couldn't beat the beast outright—that much was obvious now—but he could still help the other heroes defeat Rex in his stead if it came down to it.

Bringing up a special homebrew of spray meant only for the most extreme of threats, Mumen shoved it into Rex's face whom, in his ignorance, decided to widen his eyes. The resulting spray had a delayed reach as Mumen fired the can at full blast.

Confusion turned to irritation turned to pain turned to a full-blown agony-fest. Years of being coddled by his semblance had left Rex unable to remember what the barest of hurts felt like. Now it was coming back in full blast, and there was nothing his semblance could do to stop it.

Tears fled free from Rex's eyes after years of imprisonment and his nose followed in the example of the cascade above. Soon, a sound joined in with the image of the stunned faunus warlord—a sob. Then came another. Soon, Rex was crying his eyes out. "Yo—you make Rex cry—you make Rex hurt…Rex…Rex need moment before he hurt you good…"

"Not without a fight," Mumen said through the darkness encroaching on the eyes of his vision. Mustering the last of his strength, the Rider threw his spray can at Rex in an act of defiant futility, expecting nothing.

It went into Rex's mouth. Confused to what was sliding down his long slippery tongue, the overlord made the mistake of swallowing. It promptly got stuck. The oversized faunus, gripped his throat as his face turned red. He stumbled towards his pot for water, but they were all broken. He tried to call out for help, but there was a minor traffic problem in the throat intersection. He pushed up and down at his neck, but his thick fibers of muscles got in the way.

Rex ended up making circles around the room while Mumen lay not far from the bed, barely on the edge of consciousness. Dust rose into the air as Rex finally fell, his powerful lungs hitting the point of now returned; if he wasn't going to breathe soon, he wasn't going to breathe anymore.

True tears borne of fear and regret filled Rex's flowed freely of Rex's eyes. A lifetime of abuse followed by terrible deeds went through his head, and at the end of it all he found himself willing to give away all his power just for another chance. If he had another shot, he would be better, he wouldn't be a bully. He would find another way.

For the first time in his life, Rex prayed, to whatever Gods may listen, to whichever hero could save him.

Two arms wrapped around Rex's abdomen. "Don't struggle," said Mumen Rider, ignoring the terrible agony in his own ribs. "When I pull I need you to pull with me. I don't think I have enough strength." Rex nodded like a scared child.

Mumen yanked back with all his might, fighting the urge to pass out as Rex's weight came down on his shattered midsection. The can shifted up a bit as Rex gagged. Fighting through the pain, Mumen tugged and tugged harder than he ever did tug. With one final pull, the can was ejected from Rex's throat and buried itself in a wall beyond an open doorway leading up from a staircase, right next to Metal Bat's head.

"Whoa," Metal Bat said, giving the mucus dripping off the can a disgusted look. "What the hell happened up here…"

Deep breaths flooded Rex's system with much-needed oxygen. The mere fact that he could breath again gave him such sublime joy. Whipping around to face his badly beaten savior, Rex widened his arms and caught Mumen in a rib-creaking hug. "Human! You save Rex! You Bike Saver! Save Rex! Rex so happy!"

"Strange," said King, staring at the scene from the back of the group.

Metal Bat jabbed Snoopes lightly with his bat. "Oi. You guys got bullied into committing crimes for this dumbass? He sounds like he can barely count."

"That's exactly the problem boss," said Snoopes. "Every time we brought him tribute, he would measure it with tape and then add that tribute to his treasure room before measuring its length and yelling at us for disappointing him again. 'This is fewer,' Rex would scream while bludgeoning the table with one of ours. 'I want morer!' I'm telling you, he was a nightmare."

Rex flagged. "Rex sorry. Rex very greedy. Still greedy. Rex like the shinies and the monies because Rex poor when tiny. Rex never want to go back to slave pens again. Rex want to be suit-men buying at slave pens instead. They always happy. And always have money."

"Slave pens?" Metal Bat asked.

"They get other tinies and sell. Rex worth a lot of monies, but they keep selling Rex. Rex not hurt by whip so only collar and no food punish Rex. Rex no like that so Rex mad and fight. Rex finally get sold to old woman who give Rex axe and say fight. So Rex fight. And Rex win. And Rex take. And Rex never hungry from then on."

Mumen frowned. "Though I am sympathetic to your misfortune, you have gone beyond the reasonable allowance of forgiveness. To abuse those weaker than you are acts that must be punished by justice. Just because you have been pained does not mean you must pass it on."

Metal Bat sighed. "Mumen…"

"No," Rex said as gale force winds left his mouth from the sigh, "Bike Saver is right. Rex…Rex big bully…hurt nice Bike Saver bad but Bike Saver save anyway. Wrong is wrong. Sorry not enough for things Rex done. But Rex can pay in other ways! Rex has lots of bling blings and monies! You want? Rex give back. Rex no be bully anymore. Rex almost lose life being bully but Bike Saver still save."

Mumen shook his head. "We don't nee—"

"We need some of that 'bling bling,'" said Metal Bat, covering Mumen's mouth with one hand. "

Rex looked unimpressed. "Rex not care what you want, Stick-Man. Rex want only what Bike Saver want."

"Why you—"

"Then we need your help, Rex," Mumen said. "We need to find two friends of ours. We don't know where they are but we need to find them. Can you help us?"

Thoughtfully, Rex navigated the dimly lit corridors of his mind. "Yes. All involving monies. I give monies. I have lots monies. Will send monies out to people. They look. We wait."

"That…doesn't sound half bad," admitted Metal Bat. "So, how fast you can you get your guys to find our guys. I have a deadline here."

"Depend on how much monies I give," Rex said. "And how fast Bike Saver want me to find frie-" Rex stopped. "Bike Saver, what friends look like? Is hard to find no one. Rex try once."

Ruffling through his pants, Mumen pulled out a phone that had its screen cracked and frame dented. The image of the two was still clear. He placed the device in Rex's enormous hands and the faunus tilted his head. "Okay. Rex send monies. To get Metal-Parted Boy. And get Baldy."

* * *

 _Next time on the Fist of Remnant_ _: Back at school, Cinder has a little something planned. RWBY and JNPR Saitama has bad dreams about sales. Ironwood lectures his property on abducting children. And Glynda makes things work while Ozpin makes another scheme._

 _Oh, and the author finally gets off (or is laid off) work in a few days, so writing will become regular occurance again._


	28. Escalation: Crunches

**Author's Note: No sue because no own.**

 **Escalation: Crunches**

Deep within the Headmaster's tower, they could still hear the despair-ridden sobs of the Groundskeepers outside. Their battle against the unending tide of vermin filth was a hopeless one as tidal waves of filth rose into the air to challenge the sky.

Of course, the filth rising into the sky was only the second most disturbing thing that everyone had to go through during the day; Glynda Goodwitch was completely flabbergasted.

Now, Glynda has been angry before. Furious with Qrow. Salty in demeanor with Ironwood. Certainly annoyed with students. But never once had she been struck so speechless, so stunned that no words of chastisement, no frown or scowl emerged. Something fundamental in reality had broken that day. Did a volcano merely leak without erupting? Did the winds howl but found too much lethargy to move? Did the cosmos shine without sending heat with its partner, light?

It was all proving to be too much for Saitama. "Yo, uh, Goodwitch. It's okay if you're angry. You should just let it out. Keeping it in is not healthy and might cause you to gain wei—uh, I mean have mood swin—it will make you feel bad."

The female present shook their heads at the foolish honorary teacher. Did he not know that the ire of women ran deep like a great sea stretching out beyond infinity? Did he not know that the gods of mass and esteem were not to be lashed with the ignorance of a male's tongue?

"Fool," Weiss and Winter hissed under their breaths simultaneously. They shared a quick fist-bump right afterward.

But no anger came to Glynda even after the dangerous remarks. "Hmm, yes. No, I'm not angry. Not at all." Qrow began eyeing the door as sweat began to pour from his crown. This couldn't be Glynda—there was an imposter doing a terrible impression of her. They had been infiltrated.

"Mr. Winches—Cardin," Glynda said. "Cardin."

The bruised and strangled boy had only recently been allowed a fresh allowance of oxygen, so he could be forgiven for his slow reactions. Blue handprints and swollen bulges protruded from his face from the savaging he took. His Aura broke sometime during the first five minutes of his punishment. Try as he might he couldn't break his abusers hold. Cinder had the arms of a model on the outside but she must have changed all her blood with gorilla testosterone because she could milk the soul out a Ursa with her bare hands if she was so inclined to.

Scooting further away from the smoldering demon that he barely knew as 'Ella,' Cardin didn't seem to hear anything Glynda said.

"Cardin," Glynda said, now with a drawing of a shirtless Saitama in hand, "did you draw this."

"Yes," he nodded finally, fear in his eyes.

Hands under the Headmaster's table, Glynda shuffled some more papers. "Did you draw this?"

This time a very naked Ironwood shielded only by strategically placed chains caressed Saitama's muscular thigh while he held a fainting Qrow in his arms, bridal style. "This one."

"Yes," said Cardin.

"Stop showing those," Saitama said, tired of this already, "please."

Cinder agreed with him. She wanted out of this office and away from these degenerates.

"This one," Glynda said.

"Yes. I drew all of them." Cardin admitted shamefully.

"But…why," Pyrrha asked.

"Because I admired him, dammit," Cardin choked back shameful tears, "he—he got both a legendary Huntsman and Atlas's Highest Military Commander. Got them in barely a week. How much of an alpha do you have to be to do that. This…this was all just a tribute to him."

Qrow leaned closer. "What do you mean by 'got,' kid?"

"Yeah. What do you mean?" Ironwood added.

"Well, it's obvious that you three are having an ongoing threesome, everyone knows about it."

"What! Nononono," said Saitama.

"That's faulty information," Ironwood said. "Absolutely fake!"

Yang had to hold Qrow back from drawing his weapon. "No, Unc. He's just a kid. Let it go. Let it go."

"We are not together," Saitama said. "Not in that way. We just teach the class."

Cardin blinked. "You're not."

"No."

"They're not?" Cardin asked the rest of the room.

"Impossible," Winter said, severely. "The General is inclined towards women, and even then, he hasn't spent any intimate time with one during for the last five years. He wouldn't betray his duty like that."

It took a great deal of willpower not to let himself take offense to that. "Thank you, Specialist."

"Of course, sir."

"Winter," Weiss whispered, being the more astute Schnee present, "I think that might have been a bit…insulting."

On the other hand, Winter was the Schnee of no social graces. "The truth is never insulting Weiss. Only the guilty fear it."

The color left Cardin's face. "I—I really messed this up, didn't I?"

"Oh, yeah," said Qrow.

"Not at all," said Glynda at the same time.

"Excuse me," said Qrow.

"I don't see anything wrong with this," Glynda said. "I do see something wrong with school walls being shattered and damaged, but that's a minor problem in a combat academy. There are no rules against drawings of smut nor pornographic material of any kind."

Dumbstruck Saitama's eyes widened. "There isn't?"

"You gotta be kidding me," Qrow said.

"Right," Ironwood said, just remembering with a scowl on his face. "Vale. Loose copyright laws. No restrictions on…expressing oneself."

"They're right, master," Genos said, actively searching through the networks. "To combat the negative influence of the crime, Vale has decided to increase positive by allowing for unlimited expression."

The storm clouds above Cardin's head passed by. And stopped over Cinder's. What kind of demented laws where these?

"Genos," Robin asked. "What's smut?"

He wasted no time in responding. "Pornographic material. Usually involving genital intercourse, oral intercourse, or other means of stimulation."

"What do you mean by intercourse?" Robin was more confused than ever.

"I will find a proper educational video for you later."

A wheezing sound went through Yang and she clapped Robin over the shoulder. "Stay strong, kid. We all become deviants someday."

Now Robin wanted to know what a deviant was.

"Genos!" Ruby's face was turning into a teakettle. "You can't do that!"

He looked confused. "Why not?"

"Because…because..." Ruby's mind was going so far ahead that her words couldn't catch up. "Penny? You're her guardian too right?"

Penny smiled. "Scrolls offer unrestricted access to information. She would learn of countless copulating positions much like all the other children by age nine. I see no abnormalities here."

"Penny," Ironwood said, "we're going to need to talk about your new role?"

"I have a new role?" she said, joy overflowing.

"Let's just talk later," Ironwood said, giving up.

"So," Glynda said, "Cardin, whatever issues you may have with the lecturers, you will have to sort them yourself afterward, but they are by no means allowed to force you to do anything." She swept her eyes across the threesome. "No. Means."

Cardin looked downcast. "It's okay. I'll stop—"

"Don't!" Glynda recomposed herself. "I mean, you have a very good eye for detail, Mr. Winchester."

"—but if I keep going, I'll just be making a mistake." Cardin shot Jaune a brief look. "Done that more than once."

"Hey, uh," Saitama tried to find the right words. How why the hell did he feel like the bad guy when they were talking about no drawing porn of him. He was supposed to be the victim here. "It's okay."

"It is?" Cardin's face lit up.

"The hell it is," Qrow hissed, pulling on Saitama's hood. "You can keep showing up in nude-teacher daily but I won't be, one way or another."

"That's fine," Cardin said, still caught up with how Saitama agreed, "you weren't that important anyway. He's the star."

It took a moment for Cardin to realize what he just said. Qrow got really close to his face. "Kid, you're not good with picking words, are you?"

"Let it go, Qrow," Glynda said.

"Why are you taking his side?"

"Because this can be a very helpful skill for a Huntsman."

"Drawing porn?"

"Not. It can be turned against the Grimm."

"Drawing Grimm porn?"

"No," Glynda said, "sketching new types of Grimm encountered for further detail. Designing weapons. Creating things for the public to be inspired by. Huntsmen must be masters beyond being mere weapons. And should they make it to retirement, they should have…other skills as well."

Qrow just fumed and folded his arms. "Fine. As long as I'm not in it."

A dam holding back an unstoppable rage inside Cinder crumbled. What the hell was wrong with these people? These are the guardians of the Kingdoms? The greatest Hunters of Remnant? They just spent the better part of a day trying to figure out smut drawings rather than deal with the White Fang's attacks or locate the missing Atlas ships or personnel? Was she to be insulted that these were her adversaries, or that was she to be infuriated that despite their utter incompetence, she just couldn't best that Oum-damned bald bastard in any way so far. "Professor Goodwitch, I don't feel well. May I leave."

"Oh, Miss…Tremaine," Glynda said. "you're a transfer, aren't you?"

"Yes?"

Glynda frowned. There was something about this girl that seemed familiar. Her eyes maybe. "You were strangling Mr. Winchester here. Why?"

Cinder cursed internally. She didn't need to be wasting any more time in this office. She had schemes to make, plots to deploy. She couldn't be hindered by this. "I—I was offended for Lecturer Saitama, ma'am."

"Really," Saitama said, glad that he was appreciated once. "That's kind of neat. The defending, not the choking part."

Considering the situation for a moment Glynda sighed. "You get a warning: no more strangling students beyond combat courses or during spars. You may leave."

Cinder stood up and stopped. It's strange how chaos takes away your ability think rationally and plot accordingly, but it's almost comedic that fate had delivered this opportunity to her. Her, the glover, and Saitama. One room, one shot. A single touch and he would be her's.

Then there would be no need for any plans. Just death and victory.

"Lecturer," she said, with the most innocent expression on her face, "I like to tell you that you are an inspiration to the students. Beyond the smut."

Saitama was taken aback while Qrow and Ironwood shared a mirrored look of bullshit detection.

Weiss leaned down next to Ruby. "Isn't she the one that Qrow made run all those laps over and over again?"

"Maybe she's into that stuff," Yang said, suggestively.

Seizing her chance, she reached up slowly with a wicked grin across her face. "Please," Cinder said, taking a page out of Emerald's book of lies, "In the custom of my land, we pat our heroes on the head."

He looked somewhat torn. "Ok."

And so she did, and the darkness sinews dug in.

…

 _Sweating rivers, Cinder ran down a road that seemed to go on forever._

 _Every day, she did her sit-ups even as her abs turned numb, she hammered out her push-ups till her elbows clicked, she dropped down to her squats until her legs were too abused to stand. Only then did she run._

 _Most days she could run at her own pace, pushing herself without too much strain. But today was different. Today there was a special sale and she was running behind time. Much behind. She couldn't recall why this sale was so important but she knew it had to do with something about low-priced soap bars and cheap fish._

 _And with the amount she could save in mind, she drew upon her willpower and ran even as her body began to shut down along the way._

 _She had been training to be a hero for three months now, and every day was a new hurt, a new pain. But she persevered despite it, because heroes couldn't let a little bit of discomfort stop them for doing justice as a hobby. That would be very irresponsible._

 _Her arms flopped like a deflating doll tumbling down a staircase and her legs were catching her forward falling motion more than she was running._

 _Far ahead, she could see it: the mini-mart hosting the sale! There was only two minutes left to get to it._

 _She bit down and cast all her pain to the wind and poured willpower into where her exhaustion made gaps. Hellfire surged through her veins as untold sufferings tortured ever every move while the world began to blur. She was going to make it. No matter what. A hero would let nothing stop them from their goal. Not even the rules of nature._

 _For the briefest of moments she felt herself transcend something as a barrier broke before her and she felt a wall crumble while a stop-sign nearby her folded over like a bomb had just gone off. Turning to look at the stop sign, she didn't pay any heed to the path before her._

 _And her down came down on a discard banana peel._

 _Every limb on her body met the ground in a flurry of snapping tumbled as her skidded against the crack-ridden pavement face-first right before the mini-mart. A smear of red was left behind her. A cold void filled her body as she tried to willed her limbs to move, only to realize that she couldn't._

 _A whimper came out from her throat as she saw the shoppers begin to leave. This was it. She was too late. She missed the special sale; a miserable pile of flesh laying outside a closing mini-mart._

 _There was nothing that she could do._

 _Other than get up and try again tomorrow._

 _And so, he rose._

 _…_

It took half a second for her strands to come apart blood poured out of Cinder's nose. Stumbling back, she steadied herself on whatever was nearby, first putting her hand down on poor Robin's forehead before collapsing onto Ruby.

The worse thing this bastard experienced is missing an Oum-damned sale? Cinder nearly died right there from the thought that alone. Only the fact that she failed drove her to continue living so that she might exact proper revenge on the bald fool that looked at her so concerned.

"Ella," Genos said with mild concern. "I am detecting multiple brain hemorrhages inside your head." He held up a finger and a laser-cutter extended. "I need to operate immediately to save your life."

"No," Cinder said. "No. Aura healz gud."

"Are you sure," Ruby said, holding up her fellow 'student.' "You don't look so good."

"M'fine," Cinder said, stumbling her way over the elevator. "Seez ye allz tomorrow."

As the door closed, she slid down the wall and felt her Aura knit her wounds back together. Focusing on all the strands going out from her, she made sure that the rest of her Thralls were still connected. Weakly, Cinder grimaced as she clenched her fists. "Why can't I just break you. Why!" The inferno threatened to spill out of her eyes. But then it stopped.

She remembered. "He was hurt."

He wasn't always strong. That's why he was doing the workouts. The constant workouts. The workouts that went past the time.

Perhaps it was brain damage, or maybe it was just an epiphany but Cinder's knew what she had to do next. Her resolve became unbreakable.

Back atop, Glynda sighed at the group gathered before her. "Alright. It's been a long day. Longer week. I'll be letting everyone today. You're all free to go."

They all just stared. "Well, go on. Get out. Prepare for class tomorrow."

The group slowly shuffled away towards the elevator, chattering amongst themselves for things to come.

"Saitama," Glynda said.

He turned.

"You were right, you know."

"About what?"

"Living beyond being Huntsmen. Practicing what you like. That will probably make our students more well-balanced at whatever they choose to do anyway," Glynda said.

"You know, you not really as scary as the kids think you are," Saitama said. "Did the damage earlier truly even bother you?"

Glynda winked subtly. "Seriously. Don't tell anyone. I'm the disciplinarian in a school of well-trained, well-armed Huntsmen and Huntresses. If they don't fear me then nothing will keep them under control."

"What about the other Professors?"

She smirked. "Especially them."

Beneath the desk, Saitama heard the shuffling of papers.

"You're keeping those, aren't you?" Saitama said.

Glynda forced a stern look on her face. "The elevator is waiting on you, Lecturer." She whipped her crop and him and a telekinetic force began to drag him smoothly into the elevator. He just waved all the way until the doors closed.

Sitting down on Ozpin's chair, Glynda sighed and levitated a picture with Saitama flexing. With a crack of her crop a nearby slab of marble shattered. "Now how am I going to reconstruct you using marble?"

…

Cinder came through the door like a storm was on her heels.

"Cinder," Emerald said, "I was so worr—"

"Move off the bed."

Mercury didn't. "What?"

"Move off the bed. Now."

He did as she said.

With a brutal kick, she shattered the bed apart and threw herself on the ground where the bed once was. She was about to do something, but stopped and stood back up. From her pocket, she pulled out a folded piece of paper and ripped a nail from out of her finger.

"Cinder!" Emerald yelped at the act of self-abuse. "Why!"

Ignoring her lackey, Cinder unfolded the paper and leaped. She struck true and buried her nail into the middle of the paper, where the nail pierced through a smiling shirtless Saitama's forehead.

"Take that you Oum-damned, bald bastard," Cinder seethed, so openly vituperative that it was unlike her. Mercury never even heard her curse before. And seeing her eyes flare, he couldn't imagine what the bald professor did to deserve this.

Back on the ground, she immediately began to do crunches. "Bald bastard. Everyone knows that sit-ups are for the weak. Crunches build the right power."

"Cinder," Emerald said.

"What are you waiting for," Cinder didn't even look at her, "get down and do crunches with me, the both of you."

Mercury and Emerald shared an uncertain look.

"Now."

Lying down next to her they crunched alongside her, tentatively staying behind her in pace. "Faster. We go faster."

And so, they did.

"So, uh, Cinder," said Mercury, starting to feel a bit of a burn, "how long are we going to be doing this?"

Her eyes burned with intensity. "Until we get strong enough to do them forever."

Mercury's lip quivered. "Metaphorically right? Cinder? Cinder?"

He received no answer.

…

Snoring softly on the couch, Torchwick slumbered while his scroll rang loudly under his jacket. The terrible ringtone that violated ears with lyrics about how friendship was magic and something to do with ponies. A door flew off the hinges nearby and the angry slaps of slippers followed.

"Agh," Torchwick hissed as something kicked him hard in the shin. "Neo, what the hell?"

The diminutive ice-cream headed girl tapped her foot and pointed at Torchwick's ringing scroll.

"Hm," Torchwick looked the time. "It's past three. Why the hell is Cinder calling us."

Neo shrugged and collapsed on the couch with a tired huff.

Turning on the screen, only an empty room greeted them. Until Cinder's straining face suddenly came up out of nowhere causing Roman to jump in fright. "Oum's ever-present soul! Cinder, what are you doing?"

"Crunches," she said, breathlessly huff as she disappeared again. "Lot of them."

"Why?"

"Because that's how I'm going to beat him."

"Beat who?"

"The bald bastard that keeps getting in the way of our plans."

"With crunches," Roman said, not buying a word. "Cinder…maybe you should take a break. Y'know. Let me and Neo handle things. We'll knock over City Hall. Threaten the politician bozos. Take their money. Pretend we're Atlas with the rest of the Thralls coming our way for added conflict."

Cinder came back up. "Do what you will, Roman, but should they take you prisoner again, I will not come for you." She went down again and with an animalistic growl unbecoming of her she used her rage to pull herself back up. "Because you're a useless, weak little milksop who will never amount to anything!"

"What?" Torchwick wasn't used to being talked to that way. No one called him a milksop beyond his mom when she was hitting him with a bottle when he was a kid. Tears welled up in his eyes before Neo laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "W—why'd you call me that? I—Cinder, are you okay?"

"Look at you, sleeping right now, not doing crunches," Cinder scoffed and went down. What happened to her? She was always more a smoldering fire. Now she was a raging one. "This is the way to true power! It's obvious. It's the way he trained before he was powerful. And it's the way I'm going to be the one to break the Kingdoms. You've always been the type to choose the easy way, so, you'll do what we planned—indeed, you will strike at City Hall as Atlas in disguise, and hit all the targets. I need the city in disarray before the next part of the plan can proceed. Tell me when you're do—"

"Cinder," gasped Mercury. "Emer-Emerald isn't—guhh." He dry-heaved. "She's not breathing."

Angrily grumbling, Cinder crunched away from where the scroll was toward a power line the wall. She punched through the weak concrete and pulled the wires loose without ever stopping her crunching. With a resounding cry, she slammed the wires into Emerald's chest and let the currents flow. "Wake up."

Coughing violently, Emerald breathed in oxygen that was in short supply in her blood as her heart pounded weakly after the five-hour long abuse session. "Cin-Cinder, _please."_

"Look at me," Cinder said, gasping Emerald's cheeks and pulling her in. Not once did she stop crunching. "Never stop. We're never stopping until we can never stop. Can't let him be better than us. Strong."

"Cinder," Emerald sobbed, "it _hurts."_

"That's just your brain being traitorous. It's an illusion."

"I can make illusions, Cinder," Emerald said. "This isn't an illusion."

"Don't reason with me, crunch!"

With an agonized cry, Emerald resumed her death march to limitless strength.

Cinder shuffled back over the scroll. "Anyway, do what I told you to. Hit City Hall. Bring disarray to Vale. And when that is done. You'll receive the next instructions. I expect both of you to be working hard in the meantime to compensate your lacking power."

Then she killed the session. Without any sort of goodbye.

 _What the hell,_ Neo motioned. _Should we call child protective services? I mean, I don't like Merc or Em much and CPS is pretty useless but…that was pretty obviously wrong._

"Let it go, Neo," Torchwick sighed as dark memories came back to haunt him. "This is Remnant. Child Protective Services won't do shit for anyone here."

…

Meanwhile, at the White Fang encampment, the thralls followed in the Prime-mind's example and crutched away endlessly. Many tired bodies collapsed into unconsciousness from overwork while the others pressed even as their abs began making popping noises, tearing off the bones and tissue from overuse.

"What the hell are they doing now?" cried Adam as an unending chorus grunts and inappropriate noises of exertion stopped any of the Fang getting any sleep that night. "Get them to stop!"

"We're trying, Brother Taraus," said a Fang, desperately trying to hold his Thrall back from doing another crutch, but she did so anyway like his hands weren't even there.

"Baldy," muttered the Thrall.

"Baldy," repeated all the Thralls.

No one got any sleep that night.

* * *

 _Note: So…Cinder has gone down the path of the bald to combat the bald. As the old saying goes "He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if start doing weird crap that makes another fella bald, it might just start removing your hair too." Time will tell if this works out for her._

 _Next time:_

 _Cinder awakens…_

 _Saitama attends his first political meeting proves that crime statistics are very punch-able_

 _Genos accidentally starts a cult in his Master's name using Cardin's smut_

 _Shifty individuals look around to get baldy_

 _Jaune finds a new trainer_

 _And Qrow tries desperately to hold on to his hate for Atlas and Ironwood in particular while the rest of Beacon realize new opportunities_


	29. Interlude: Awaken

**_A/N: I LIVE!_**

 **Interlude:**

 **Awaken**

Fire rained down upon Beacon.

Like scattered dust did the buildings part and like crumbling clay did all the rest fall. There were Huntsmen and machines and civilians in the mix but before her they were all one, and they were all none. A wave of her hand; a gesture; a merest thought in her mind sent them all to the wind. Once upon a time, in a fairy tale, this would be the moment a true hero appeared and struck her low with the sword that his father found from an escort posing as a mermaid or some other absurd happenstance.

Alas, there was no mermaid or sword, or even a chosen one to bring them freedom. There was only the fire and its master-the maiden with soul of calamity, unleashed.

Alas put up an admirable fight together, but they were merely a trifle in her path to her true goal. Metal sprayed at her will into molten streams that crashed against screaming flesh as waterfalls. Huntsmen and Huntresses were subsumed by the havoc that was her wake. With each step, ashes filled lifted into the sky, raw red like a swollen wound, the sun a blistered pustule of agony waiting to pop at her volition. At the center of it all, a Clock Tower still stood by her choosing, a monument to their failures with a cane melted into the gears.

The cracked face of the clock had both arms stuck at midnight. The magic hour, forever to be, a last sight for the stripped strength of her adversaries as all fell in the reflection of Ozpin's structural symbol of hope.

They had run out of time.

She may not have consumed the mind of the bald one, but what she received in return was more than worth her toils and efforts. She had found the method. She had ascended beyond her wildest dreams. Claiming her mantle as the personification of Fall was a tertiary step now.

There was a man she had to face. The ignorant master of hers that she had to replay.

From beneath the rubble, she unsheathed him from the ground, beaten, scalded, disfigured beyond belief from the touch of her flames. Her columns of plasma of white-hot wrath had left this place desolate and nothing beyond the dust coming down and him, yet holding on to life, his vitality strong ever so close to death.

"I suppose that I should thank you," Cinder said as she formed a blade of purest heat, brighter than innocent a soul of pure white, humming with energy that was beyond this world. "You sent me reeling. Reeling towards potential and my true apotheosis. All thanks to you. And you probably didn't even know this was coming, did you? The devastation. The ruin and wrath? No. For all your power, you were just as oblivious as the rest of them, never realizing who was your true enemy all the way until the end. But what could I have expected from a fool such as yourself. 'Power is like cleavage!'" Cinder laughed to herself as she dragged her blade across his chest, enjoying his tortured gasps and the smell of ruined flesh.

"N-no." He barely could speak. Yet he resisted.

Fire poured out of Cinder's eyes as she pressed the blade all the way through him, stabbing deep and cutting clean. "No. What. I've won. Die and admit that I won. _I'm better than you_. _I better than all of you!_ "

Then, he blinked and gave her that confused look that he must have practiced so many times. It was unmistakable even beyond his disfigurement. "No you're not." His fingers closed around her blade and held it tight.

"What?" the flames fled from Cinder's eyes as the ashes fall held still mid-drift. He pulled her in close and met her eye to eye as she tried to pull away to no avail, his other hand clenching her wrist. "Let go! Let go!"

"You can't be better," he said again. "You forgot one essential fact about my power."

What was it? What could it have been that still infused him with such strength?

He leaned in close. "You forgot to only have a banana in the morning. It's usually enough and high in potassium so it counts as a healthy breakfast."

Cinder blinked. "What."

He nodded. Then he punched her so hard that her abs felt a pain that could only be described as all the emotional heartache between star-crossed lovers transmuted into physical agony.

Eye snapping open, Cinder tried to sit up and bit back a scream as the agonizing pain tore at her core. Her head cracked against the ruined floor of her room as her strength fled.

She was back in Beacon. In her dorm. Terrible pain wracked her body as she shivered and shook from involuntary muscle spasms and an obliterated mid-section. Even her dreams were taunting her now, mocking her along with the bald bastards and the rest the fools.

Cinder bit back a hiss and mustered her strength. She wanted to shout her hate for that damned fool from the top of existence. "Baldy," she said, words a wheeze under the beeps of the machine she was connected to. "Baldy!" She lamented deeply.

"Um, are you alright?"

Two long ears peek in from the outside. Cinder moved her body to the best of her ability and face her visitor. A few beats of silence passed as she watched the long-eared faunus girl watching her.

"Are you—"

"No. No, I am not," said Cinder, terse and under her breath. "What's your name?"

"…Velvet."

"Well, Velvet, me and my," Cinder cast a glance at her two subordinates—both foaming at the mouth and shivering from severe abdominal damage, "teammates have found ourselves in a pressing predicament. Would you be a darling and go get us some medical assistance. That would be most appreciated."

Velvet eyed Emerald, body juices spraying out from her mouth like the third act of a badly paced movie. Then Mercury, whose ribs seemed to be folded outwards by this point. Making contact with Cinder again, she nodded slowly and slid out from sight. Her pattering footsteps down the hall placed a surreal feeling to end the entire situation.

In silence, Cinder glared at her ceiling, unblinkingly as she reigned in all her hate. She felt the touch of his memory still fresh in her mind, even beyond this ordeal. Yet, even with her glimpse into how his methods functioned, she couldn't replicate the results.

That did not mean that she was out of options. She had resources. She had surprises of her own. And perhaps in this time that she has encountered a foe beyond even her comprehension to overcome, perhaps another may grant her wisdom in navigating this path to true perfection.

Perhaps it's time that Salem was informed about this bald nuisance.

A hack. A gasp. Emerald's eyes rolled back down. "Ci—Cinder—Cinder…oh, oh fiery depths of hell my—I'm dying." A very uncharacteristic whimpering then began.

"Hey," said Mercury with his eyes still closed, sounding like a fist had taken residence in his stomach, "did either of you have a dream about…about bananas? I—really think that we should have some bananas."

Salem didn't need to know all the details surrounding their encounters with the bald one. Some explanations were just superfluous.

...

 _Afterword: Apologies for the long absence, but I've had a rough go of things for the last few months. You know how it is: just when things just seem to be going well and you don't need to diddle a pig to appease the ruinous powers that bring problems to your life like getting the living life-juice beat out of you while depression kicks the hell out of your insides. I'd like to say that the worst is over and the writing will resume with vigor and redoubled effort to make up for lost time but I have lost count of all the times that I have promised such things yet had my words rot at my fingertips. For those of you who waited so long for this to update, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you suffer. It's a bit difficult and private to explain what I had to deal with but I've made it through it._

 _In brighter news, it seems that the next few days should be clear and I might just be able to finish the Town Hall Job starring RWBY, Genos, Jaune, but most importantly Roman Torchwick and his reluctant terrorists and bitter servants. That was a blast to write about. Anyway, wish me luck and with any of it left, I'll be able to get back to you guys within a reasonable timeframe this time. Thanks for sticking with me in the meantime._

 _Bucket_


	30. The Town Hall Job I

**_A/N: And we're back in business_**

 **The Town Hall Job**

 **Or**

 ** _How Roman Torchwick Learned to Love the Bomb_**

 **Episode 1**

 **Prep Work**

For one who usually was privy to planning heists, Roman had to admit that this terrorist thing was unpalatable to his tastes.

Admittedly, the plan didn't involve any actual blowing up or other assortment of activities that Roman listed as "crimes against profit." But still, the principle of running a con without there being a pay-off or heist at the end of it felt wrong. It was like he was some wage slave, working on orders. Which, if he thought about in any depth, made him feel real uneasy about his relationship with Cinder so he quickly did the smart thing and stopped thinking.

Instead, he decided to focus on the brighter side of this whole thing: he was going to mess with a bunch of politicians and social bigwigs, so, what the hell, he might as well get this show on the road.

Over the last week, through a combination of stalking, mapping, spying, pseudo-birdwatching, bribing, and one single case of kidnapping and impersonating, Roman had managed to set up an entire operation that he would internally christen "The Town Hall Job" or "Banging a Drum Next to the Man's Floppy Pig Ears."

The resulting preparation after the set up was equally substantial. A stolen and remodeled old limo that was coming out with a new paint job bearing Atlas colors. Several bribes to certain unseemly scum that he normally wouldn't deal with—not because of morals, but their stench—for the schematics to the sewers beneath Vale. A fake Atlas pilots uniform with the prerequisite of pointless shiny things attached to it. Two foldable automated turrets. A package of White Fang uniforms. Some _edibles_ of substance And a large, wired, menacing, and extremely fake bomb in a briefcase.

And in preparing for the grander heist, one had to commit innumerable smaller acts of theft to achieve the desired effect. To wit, the uniform was a sin of indecency, taking the jacket, boots, and pants from an Atlas thrall in accordance with Roman's measurements. Limo was something of a favor, collected through a series of card games with a notorious loan shark and gambling addict herself—which is likely why she became a loan shark in the first place, to collect debts to pay her own to keep getting in debts—until she had nothing left to give but something owed to her, which, should one do enough research, would include a certain limo driver for a retired Atlas general who lived primarily in the countryside. Finally, the edibles were a crime of bravery, involving the sacrifice of several peons who had—were forced—to venture deep into Grimm territory to pick some random, hard to find flowers that were a bit too expensive and questionable for some random person to purchase without a chef's permit.

All this to accomplish the three simple steps to his plan.

The break-in—consisting primarily of, as the title implies, breaking in. Preferably with minimal resistance.

The hijinks: allowing Neo to do her thing while they hold up City Hall and force a ransom with increasingly absurd demands. _Increasingly absurd_ being the key point here as there is a desperate need for them to stall. This will, of course, result in more shenanigans of their own.

The breakout: the final, and if Roman were to say so, the most important portion of this symposium today. After all, the magic would be lost if he was to be tackled and cuffed in the middle of his bow.

For the plan to work, everything had to be in a sweet spot: perfect enough to execute but leave enough room to improvise. Crime, one must understand, is a form of art rather than a pure and stubborn science. Only the foolish and dumb will attempt to bend the nature of Murphy's Law; often getting bent themselves in return.

Finally, despite his distaste for them, one had to hold a proper fear of the police while not respecting them. The pigs might be dumb pigs that are pigs but they still have guns even if they are pigs. Guns were bad. Guns hurt. But most importantly, guns put holes in Roman's expensive jacket and that didn't jive with the crime-daddy, no sir.

By the end of the whole process, why, Roman Torchwick would daresay he might have created a right and decent plan to go one. A perfect seven point five out of ten. Anyone who claimed they had a ten-plan was a bloody liar. Nothing ever went without a hitch. The masters were the ones who could steer those hitches back into place.

"Hum—"

" _Boss_ ," corrected Torchwick. "Or Mr. Torchwick. Or Crime-Daddy, sir. One of those. Hell, I'm generous, I'll even let you come up with an honorific and see if I like it."

" _Human,"_ said the burly White Fang with the bullhorns. His was a face that only a paid escort could love if he decided to tip at the end. "We have several concerns about this plan."

Roman took a puff off his cigar and dabbed its ash towards the unruly underling. "What about?"

"Your role. And ours."

"Uh-huh? It all seems pretty clear to me. I don't understand what so hard to get. I sneak in through the front using my masterful disguise. You come in through the bottom and infiltrate. We meet in the middle using _Ed_ over there?"

A dull mutter sounded. The Atlas thrall they brought along with them was standing there, drooling out from his lips, mucus leaking out from his nose. They placed thick-rimmed sunglasses and a handkerchief around his neck to hide the general mess that comes with being a thrall but eventually the simply slapped a stolen medal of sacrifice to pin on him. That ought to take care of any questions. The armor of social niceties was a fabulous thing.

"Well," said Ugly the Bull, "the rest of the Fangs and I are wondering why we can't come in the front door with you. On why we have to infiltrate through the sewers, _up through the rest_ on the bottom floor, right next to where the bulk of security is located."

"For you to take the place of the security out of course," Roman said. "You see, it's simple. Every morning at seven thirty, the pigs of the Vale City Hall would assemble at the diner next door—the Little Rooster—for their morning assortment of breakfast combos. Of all the possible combinations that they could order, there is only two commonalities among the dishes—the inclusion of egg and potatoes. A good choice if I were to choose myself, if one because they taste so damn well with the accompaniment of breakfast scotch. The only drink that would prepare you for the rest of a rough day."

The Fang promptly labeled Roman a potential alcoholic and a certain stalker.

"Anyway, following this, the security staff will move back into City Hall by eight sharp to go over the details of their watch and which rooms and areas they are to hold ward over. Today, however, is an easy situation to predict. All activities are suspended because ' _maintenance_.' That would be code for 'all pigs on one detail' of great importance for those of you who can't understand what I'm saying. Now big as City Hall might be,

"What if they ask for our credentials?" asked a nervous doe-eared Fang.

Roman barked a laugh. "Such _amateurish_ questions. No one is going to ask any of you anything. You wanna know why? It's because you're all beneath notice. Not only because some of you will be openly faunus in appearance while in uniform, but because you'll be wearing the universal question deterrent that is the pigs' security uniform, the little orange vests that epitomizes the droopy utility person who has no purpose in existence beyond when your air-con is busted and your too lazy to clean it yourself, the janitors garb; fitting for someone that _no one_ wishes to spend more than a second looking at. That's why you're going to be putting on their uniforms and parading around as them. Because you fit the profile."

Their eyes bore into him, begrudging hate mixed with acceptance settling in. There was nothing more for them to ask, nor to say. They knew that he was right. Of course, they hated him. That's fine. He wasn't much a fan of including ignorant animals in on his actions either considering their propensity of ruining the best-laid plans. Of course, that was why he was the _only_ one in charge of the planning.

"So, anyone has any concerns? No. Good. Get on moving. Down the drains. Scram. Beat it. Shake a leg."

One by one the minions left the warehouse to descend through the agreed positions from an exposed sewer pipe just outside the harbor. Torchwick, meanwhile, set about the important task of finish his cigar before the job. It was important that he got himself nice and focused. It wouldn't do be all jittery and startled at all. No way. And so, Roman fell back onto his couch with a sigh, expecting to land back first on a sweet relaxing softness.

Instead, he got the business end of an umbrella.

"Gah!" Roman hissed. "Neo! What the hell. Got me good, you brat!" Reach over the couch he ruffled a mop of luminous hair that quickly bounced away from him in glee.

The little sneak-thief popped out from behind the couch with a sadistic grin. She was dressed in a waitress's uniform that was a size too large, soot and burn marks scarring the cotton from an epic battle between her and food. In spite of the damage left in her wake, she usually ended up doing a decent job.

Tilting her head and tapping her foot, she gave Roman a questioning look as he rubbed his back. There had to be a point to sending her off on a pointless run to incapacitate the staff at a diner just so she could put laxatives in the food there.

"What? Why'd I make you wear that and dose the food? Oh, Neo," Roman said with a laugh. "You think you were just dosing _laxatives_ in their food?" His smile great vast and wild like a wildfire in a dry tundra. "The special ingredient is _Rotbane._ The pigs won't just be spewing out of all ends, they'll be in feverish fits till the cows come home and then some. And the best part about this whole thing? These White Fang schmucks are about to go _crawling_ up the path of ruin to get to where they need to be. And they all think it's part of the plan."

Eyes widening, Neo covered her mouth as she shook with laughter and wrapped a single arm around Roman's waist as he lifted both arms to showboat for an invisible audience. "I know. I know. I'm the best. I'm the greatest. You're all too kind. Thank you. Thank you very much."

Wiping errant tears away, Neo fixed her posture and straightened Torchwick's jacket. Patting him on the chest, she shot him a look that held him to their long-standing promise before stepping back and striking the ground with her umbrella. "Go on then, runt. Go cause your chaos. Take all the time that you need."

 _Indubitably, Mr. Torchwick,_ her eyes sparkled. _Indubitably._

Like wilted petals to the wind, she scattered away leaving Torchwick alone.

Well, not entirely alone. A dull moan broke the spell as Roman sighed. "Suppose I'm going to stomach your company for our entire trip. Don't suppose you know any good jokes to pass the time, do you?"

A glob of spit snapped loose from his lips. Disgusted, Roman used his cane to tug up on the thrall's handkerchief. "Just think of the chaos, Roman. Just think of the money. Think of the money."

…

 _A bit earlier…_

Qrow sighed. "So why'd you want to come here again? There are a hundred other diners across town. Half of them closer. What's so special about this joint that we had to come out here."

The creases above Saitama's nose bridge was a gallant sight unto itself. Many a fourth-dimensional scholar had written their cosmic thesis about the potential of mass destruction that was the muscles around Saitama's eyebrows. Were they to collide with any degree of severity by design of his limitless fast twitch muscles, why extinction level events in different realities and horizons would soon come to be. Thankfully, Saitama's nose was equally implacable, forming what many scholars would soon call the ultimate triangle of balance.

Understandably, one of the fourth-dimesionals took this as inspiration to write a fictional story between two great nation. One known only vaguely as the USSR. The other, the US. It was received rather poorly the in the fourth dimension for its lackluster ending after the missile crisis arc, whereupon the USSR crumbled afterward due to a mixture of socio-economic region potentially brought on by the duplicitous use of the fake ultimate technique of _Star Wars_ by the US.

He was then, also understandably, sentenced to a short stay in an endless time-loop for his crimes against storytelling.

Back with Saitama in the real world, he lowered the menu for the diner, mind well and made, but stomach yet to be filled. "It's right next to the City Hall. But also, they have half price combo breakfast," said Saitama, explaining his usual logic to approaching things.

Qrow sighed. "That's really it, huh. Nothing more than that. Just closer. And cheaper. That's why I had to wake up half an hour early and show you around? How do you even know about this place?"

"Genos marked this place down for me on my scroll," Saitama said, pulling a hot pink scroll out from his bag. "He remembered it from when he was trying to stop the warship from ramming into the city. It's really nice of him. Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day you know. I enjoy it whenever I have enough money to have a good and proper one. It's a great feeling to know that you don't need to just eat bananas anymore because your training is complete."

Qrow heard very little of the latter few sentences. All he was fixated on was the scroll that Saitama was waving around. Hot pink. With little lasers and fiery unicorns. He knew that scroll. That was Yang's old scroll. "Did my niece give you that?"

"Yep," Saitama said. "She loaned based on a deal that she made with Genos."

A shiver ran up Qrow's spine. He knew better than to make deals with the firecracker. She always got her way. Always. He only wished that it didn't come at too much of a detriment for the poor shiny boy. He didn't know what he was getting into.

"Anyway, I'm ready to order. Yo, waitress." Saitama waved his scroll in the air, seemingly unaware of the snickers coming from the security guys around the other few tables. A diminutive figure stomped on towards them like she was walking on stilts with how had to balance on her heels with each step. If Qrow had to guess, this girl wasn't a day older than fifteen. "I want the number three combo, with the bacon, eggs, and potato combo. And give me a vanilla smoothie too."

Qrow would never understand Saitama. He resigned himself to merely accepting his strange actions as something that fell into the weird and trans-dimensional category. "To hell with it," he said. "I'll have the egg, potato, and sausage special. Give me the number six."

The puny girl's wide eyes swung between the two. She nodded once with uncharacteristic silence before stumbling off behind the counter. "She looks kinda young to be working at that age," Saitama said with audible respect. "I like how the youth here are motivated to make themselves better. It's a good thing to do, to pursue improvement for yourself."

"Yeah, well, being stuck in a world were being too negative literally draws monsters to you will do that," Qrow said, popping off the top of his flask.

"Hey, Qrow," Saitama frowned. "Isn't it too early for you to be drinking that."

"Hm? Oh, thanks," Qrow said, stuffing his flask down the inside pocket of his jacket. He subsequently traded it for a larger flask that he had hidden in his other pocket. "Wrong drink. Here's my breakfast scotch. Only drink that could prepare me for the rest of a rough day."


	31. The Town Hall Job II

_A/N: I'll admit, I'm not as happy as this one as I would be, but I want to get into the habit of writing a bit every day. I'll probably come back and make edits on this one. We'll see how this plays out._

The Town Hall Job II:

Dirty Jobs with the White Fang

Or

Genos Makes a Friend

Hoarse moans of death and misery were the norm in security quarters of the City Hall that day. Gasps of fading minds and broken wills chorused as unholy symphony to prelude the havoc to come.

 _PHUMP!_

Such were the dreadful sounds of bodies falling over. It would have been a foreboding sound if there were any to hear it properly. Alas, the help themselves were the ones that needed help, and the only music that graced their ears were the agonized whimpers of their fellows as the lights of the waking world escaped from their dimming eyes.

Across the once pristine checkpoint of security, atop thrones that now stood as porcelain tombs for the faded and weary, the gates stood unmanned, the coffee untouched, and the chatter now a dull few murmurs that were slowly becoming something less than even that.

If only one or two of them were blessed with the fortitude to push on, they would, in the next coming seconds, hear sobs not of their company, but from another band far below, traveling up pipes sullied with ruin and regret, from which those they were meant to replace were staining themselves to find relief from their agony.

In some sense, this was an agony shared most deeply.

"Oh, god'it'sts terrible! I'm going to kill that human bastards lat-agghhhuuwwggg. Itthhh inn muh eeyyyyiiee! Itthhh inth muh moudddth!"

"Tust! No! What did I tell you about looking up while we were crawling? No! Don't! Don't! We're still down here. There's only one way it can go."

Gasps and sobs followed. "Whuuagg watth I thethh firttthst!"

"Straws, Tust," came the lie. "You picked the shortest straw."

The truth was that Tust's straw was meant to snap in half on pull. Which made him the loser in pretty much every event that they drew on. Which was helped by the fact that Tust was too nice to hate his brethren for whatever horrible acts they placed him in the way of as vanguard, while also being too dumb to understand that he was going to lose every time.

There was a certain logic to being in a guerrilla group out in the woods where the slightest bit of negativity and misery would attract flesh-eating beasts of incomprehensible nature to besiege your camp. This logic often found its foundation in having the dumbest member of any group commit to whatever action was at hand.

War was not for the glamorous or the dandy. Sometimes, it took the willingness to do acts of pure filth to ascend to greatness and glory. That was the White Fang way. Conceptually anyway. It was best that they left these parts out their recruitment campaigns. There was only so much that anyone could take after all.

Pushing their way into the breached stronghold of the securest spot within their adversaries deepest security sanctums, the White Fang emerged, sullied, horrified, quivering with fury at their ordeal, but alas, quite unharmed. The same couldn't be said for the fools that were about to involuntarily donate their uniforms to a greater cause.

The process with quick, sticky, and filled with cleaning and soap. Gagging was also optional. Those that couldn't participate in the resulting festivities were soon left in a piled in the corner to stew in their own misery like a stack of rotting potatoes. Crying rotten potatoes that were left with a _biohazard_ sign outside their door.

Elsewhere, an Irishman angrily waved his fists at a poor metaphor and an unnecessary sentence that was about to go unfini

Back with the crime at hand, a beep their synchronized watches told them that it was time for the next part of their plan to commence. It was still early so they could expect minimal encounters with other staff members and with the Vytal Festival and the recent events that occurred, most workers would be taking time off to stay safe with their families and watch the fights on their holoscreens or on their scrolls.

"Why is it so small?" cried Tust as he tried to fit his hairy forest of a chest into a security jacket two-sizes down from being half his size. "So…tight."

"Shhh. Don't fuss Tust." He drew the short straw again. Someone had to suffer for the greater good. Even if it did make him look like he was a grown man wearing teenagers jacket. The fact that his horns were poking through the top of his cap didn't help much either.

Marching out into the main room of the security chambers, they kept their heads low as to avoid the cameras out of reflex. They were going to delete all footage anyway but being safe was always something worth practicing. From there, everything fell into place.

"Tust, armory. Check," said Tust still pulling at his jacket.

"Reefer, checkpoint. Check," said Refer, rolling up his extra-long tongue and practicing his smile for the Atlas bastards.

"Kidd, patrol. Check," said Kidd, her plated skin gleaming under the light.

"Nuk, comms. Check," said Nuk, turning his neck all the way around, shaking as if someone was following her.

"Saddie, overwatch. Check," from across the street, within a hollowed water-tower with a sonar-sniper, two deep blue eyes watched, unblinkingly.

"Hunter, systems. Check," said the leader of this sub-group, trying not to think about the filth still stuck deep in his mane. "All members in place and ready. Let's get this op going."

Pairing his specialized scroll into the City Hall network, the firewalls came crashing down against the special software so helpfully donated to them by their new Atlas thralls. Within seconds, they were the eyes and ears of City Hall, watching everything. They had their fingers on the triggers for the turrets outside. They knew every detail there was to know about the ins and outs of this place.

They had the run of the place.

All that was left, was for a certain man to show up and smuggle himself into place before the real show could get started.

…

The Limo doors flipped upwards with a click. It was a fabulous beast of purest Altas stock: midnight tint of slat platting caged the chassis of the interior and gave it a harrowed look, daring terrorist scum to take their best shots; the wheels were no less hardened with grav-mag tires that slid across the ground like a slithering serpent; even within where the engine would be was only a silent heart that pounded with pulses of energy that would bring shame to all but those of its kind meant for the race.

This was something made for Atlas nobility and military. Often, the two were related anyway.

A single oily-grey boot slapped down in the morning sun, shining proudly as its owner. His name was Ace Hardspeed. Okay, it was actually Roman Torchwick, Punker of Pigs and Daddy of Crime but right now he was undercover, as Ace Hardspeed—hotshot Atlas fighter pilot that flew recklessly and didn't play by the rules.

Which basically made him a pilot from pretty much any military.

Being dragged along with him was his good compatriot, mentor, questionable father-figure, and tragically suffering from shell-shock Ripley Holden. Ripley Holden? Bleh. That was a terrible name to go along with Ace Hardspeed. Too normal. Who named their kids Ripley these days? Did his parents miss the Great War or something?

Ace sighed and tugged his "mentor" along. This day was going swimmingly. He could see that the gates of City Hall were tall and gated and gilded and all _too easy_ for him to get past. Provided that his minions on the inside were in place.

Sliding up to the door and swiping the aviator beret off the top of his head, Ace waggled his deep black eyebrows at the bored lady in charge of letting people through. "Hey there, sweet-cheeks. Ace Hardspeed, Atlas fighting ace, but I repeat myself. This here's Captain Holden. We've got business with City Council."

The guard gave him a weary look from within her booth. She was an older lady with a few scars on her face and a perpetual frown. Her uniform was utilitarian but the way she wore it told him that she didn't care. This was likely a retirement gig or something to pass the time with the way that she seemed to spend her time watching soap operas reflected on her horn-rimmed glasses.

"What kind of business."

Ace removed his aviator glasses and smirk. "Need to know."

She sighed. Damn Atlas types. "Please wait." Typing in his name, it didn't take long for him to pop up in the database. Ace. What kind of idiot named their kid Ace? Did they want him to be a famous actor or have a reason to toughen up in school early or something? Looking through all the information, it seemed that he checked out, though it did look like his hair was much different once upon a time.

"Didn't take you for the type to have an afro," she said.

"Yeah. How'd I look?"

She rolled her eyes. "Decent."

A checkbox went off in the back of Roman's head as he knew what his next hairstyle was going to be. Thank you, crime software for helping him achieve this dream, and thank you, Atlas scroll for working so damn fast.

A click sounded from the gate beside him as the guard checked the credentials for Captain Holden. "This says that he's missing in action," she said with an eyebrow raised.

"He was," said Ace. "Now he's reporting for duty. Again. Need to know, you know."

She gave the thrall behind him a wary glance. "You sure he's up for that."

"Him? Hell yeah! Don't let his hangover fool you, I once saw him shoot down a Queen Lancer upside down in an outdated fighter over a gravity canyon. The Captain's a straight butcher, no chaser."

"No chaser?" she said, both eyebrows raised now. Crazy Atlas pilots and their lingo. Somethings never change.

The gate behind the booth ringed and unlocked with a soft and pleasant. Going with the golden gates and the angelic enamel glossed across the metal bars, Roman's disgust for the City Council was well and complete. He understood a display of opulence, but this went too far.

Placing his hat back on his head, he reached back and pulled Holden along. "Good day to you ma'am, and might I ask, when do you get off duty."

She scoffed. "I'm married."

"Oh. Well, how much time does that leave us."

Shaking her head, she waved a hand to move him along. It might not look it, but she was happily married. Even if he's been dead for ten or so years. As far as she's concerned, nothing's changed.

"Had to try," said Ace with a smile that didn't last. "Thank _god_ that didn't work," gagged Roman, under his breath as he passed through the golden gates with Holden in tow.

Behind him, he heard the driver turn his limo around and make a left around the corner. If everything was going to plan, it would go another block before circling and coming back around to park behind a closed bank perpendicular to City Hall. There it would wait, until either, it came back into purpose, one way or another.

…

At Beacon, most students were asleep in their warm beds, laminating in the respite granted to them by the events of the last few days. It was a weekend so there were no classes that they had to get to, nor clubs that required their attendance. Outside, the Atlas warships had been towed away allowing tranquility and peace to return to the campus in proper.

However, for two teams, the day still began early as a certain cyborg, an android, and a little girl came by with a problem to solve late at night.

Nightmares. Namely, how to keep a child that had just lost both her parents from experiencing them over and over between short sets of sleep.

As the night turned to dawn, and contrarily, as the bags under Robin's eyes grew darker, the numerous schemes of team RWBY—ranging from bunk beds to reverse-horror stories, to movies, or soothing lullabies, and even a cuddle-buddy—proved to be ineffective.

Try as they might, Robin could never sleep for more than an hour before she would wake with a cry and the cycle would begin again.

Spent and exhausted as well, Team RWBY preserved on will and coffee alone. Entertaining the girl along with Genos and Penny as best they could. Finally, it came to be that Team JNPR, coming around for their morning greeting, took the reins of the babysitting shift in order to try some of their own methods with the girl.

One by one, they returned with no results and dispirited faces, until only Jaune alone pushed on to try his methods.

"Pyrrha," yawned Ruby, "how's it going with Jaune."

"It's been but fifteen minutes," said Pyrrha with a laugh. "Have some patience."

" _But how's it going with Jaune,"_ said Yang with a smirk.

Pyrrha blushed. "He's been learning well. He's a good leader. And a good man. With some time and a bit more training he will make a remarkable huntsman."

" _Right_ ," said Yang as she yawned too. "Hey, Chrome, how're you feeling. Probably not feeling anything since you run on power. Must be good not need to sleep. Right. Chrome? Genos?"

Snapping away from the wall he was staring at, Genos turned to face Yang. "I am sorry?"

Yang was taken aback. "That might be the first time that I ever saw you distracted."

Genos looked down. "Apologies. I was…thinking."

"About Robin, right?" Weiss said. "The nightmares are always bad in the beginning. They'll get weaker and weaker over time. You still haven't explained why you're in charge of her instead…well…someone more ready. No offense."

"Weiss," said Ruby.

"What? I said, no offense. It's a valid question."

"Indeed, it is Ms. Schnee," Penny chimed in suddenly.

"Gah! Penny."

"Oh. Apologies, Ruby. I just came out of my sleep-mode for system updates. I did not mean to startle you."

Everyone just looked at her.

"So that's why your eyes were turning," said Yang.

"It seems that for Robin," said Penny, "there is no extended family and currently, as it has been for the last few decades, the foster care system of Vale, and not uncommonly, the other kingdoms have been filled beyond capacity. It seemed that the Doctor who sighed her over to our custody knew that she was most likely to be placed on a waiting list to be accepted into an opening at a care facility."

Silence filled the room. Everyone in there likely knew loss, but at least they all still had somebody.

Ruby and Yang had their dad and uncle.

Weiss had Winter.

Pyrrha had her family.

Ren and Nora had each other.

Penny—supposedly—had a father.

And Blake had her friends and then some. Perhaps her family too if she ever found the will within her to ever go back.

What would Robin have if Genos and Penny had decided to decline? What did she have now, despite their generous intent?

While everyone wrestled with this question, Blake watched Genos, somehow feeling the conflict within him brewing over. It occurred to her that he, too, was an odd one out.

Sure, he had Saitama now, but once upon a time, when the story he once told them was still of the present, who did he have.

The doctor that rebuilt him? Revenge? Justice?

It dawned on her that he was perhaps facing the dawning of an empathy too close to bear for the first time.

"Genos," started Blake with a hitch in her voice. Whatever was about to follow failed to come out as she considered her next words very carefully. Though the man standing before her had a skin of chrome, she wasn't sure about his heart; its space, occupied by a core—an engine.

Where it mattered, Genos was a person like anyone one else. He yet maintained a personality and character—a good one at that with his chosen values of nobility and heroism. But there was undeniably a lack that filled him as well. A stoicism that filled so much space where other people would have habits, peeves, hobbies, or _a history._

As much as she could tell, his was a just a tally of adversaries destroyed until he finally met his master.

On top of that, he was supposed to be _just_ 17\. No older than her or any other huntsman or huntress at Beacon other than Ruby. Yet, there was a strain added to his age, like there was never any youth in him to begin with.

The reason that this mattered so much to him, and why it was almost impossible for him to rely on prior experience is that his ended.

Perhaps he saw Robin as a manifestation of himself but intact, unlike him. Perhaps he was thinking that if he could serve as her ward, he might be able to grant her something that he lost and reassure himself or save himself by proxy in some way. Blake sighed. She was grasping at straws here, imagining herself as a theoretical-psychologist for a trans…wherever-he-came-from cyborg.

She was lying if she could fix him. She couldn't even fix her own damage.

He was willing to rush at his torment without hesitation, to face it and meet it by might or will.

She just ran.

What did that make her?

"Nothing," she answered her own question. To end on such a half-assed note after building up to so much. But it was also the truth, wasn't it? There was nothing that she could say for either of them. Him. Her. Or Robin.

He might have been a befuddled cyborg. But he held certainty within him. He was a hero through and through.

Blake. Blake was barely more than a scared, traitorous coward running from her past, never daring to turn around for fear that she might remember who she was, and what she was a part of. Now, that's it's come back for her, all that added was the quality of entrapment to her cowardice.

The only advice that she could give to him was to run. Something that's got her nowhere.

"Nothing at all," said Blake once again, as she retreated away. Picking up her book to close herself off from the rest. Try as she might, she could still feel their eyes on her, as if waiting for her to explain her muteness. She could still feel Yang's persisting frown and knew that this wouldn't be the end to this.

"There. All done," said Jaune as he came in through the door. "She's sleeping now but we're probably going to have to wake her in about four hours. It'll probably make her tired but if she sleeps through the entire day that's going to make a mess of her sleep cycle." He looked at Genos and Penny. "Which neither of you have. Right."

"I have a sleep-mode," said Penny. "Most of my functions turn off when its active." A whining noise came from Penny as she suddenly stopped talking and flopped over with a thud. "I can still communicate and monitor during this sleep-mode," said Penny shooting right back up as her limbs straightened from their flopped positions. "Genos? Do you have a sleep-mode."

Genos nodded and then went rigid. His eyes turned deep read as an ominous light flooded out from his mouth in waves of transparent static that bounced against and through the walls. "It is imperative while I recharge myself that I do not get ambushed."

Penny gave him a thumb up. "As father says," Penny's voice suddenly changed to the tenor of a what sounded like an old man who spent most his time in a lab. "That's just good design."

Eyes swinging between the two, Jaune nodded. "Right. Yeah. Good to know,"

"You are welcome," said Penny and Genos, their necks turning in perfect synchronicity.

"No problem," said Jaune with a beaming smile. "She's a sweet kid, so I had an easy go of it."

"Easy?" asked Genos, tension building within his voice.

"Yep," Jaune said. "I shared some stories with her, you know. Funny stories about my family and the shenanigans we got up to. I got a lot of those so I figured: why not use it. Turns out, she's quite the storyteller herself. So, for a while, we just, traded stories, seeing who had the funnier one, the nicer one and somewhere in the middle of all that, she fell asleep and stayed that way."

"Easy," said Genos, resigned. It seemed that his knowledge and will were yet lacking in this respect as well. "I see. Stories." He didn't really have many of those. He could tell her about what Saitama taught him, but it was hardly the same. Master lessons were on being a hero. A hero was one thing, but a healer of the heart was another. "Thank you, Jaune," said Genos, standing up. "Thank you all. You should all get some rest. I apologize again for intruding on your sleep."

"Don't sweat it," Ruby yawned. "But I think I am going to take you up on that…sleep deal." Groggily, she hopped up on her bed and tucked in. "Morning guys. I'll see you at night."

A few snickers went her way.

"Later Ruby," said Nora. "Remember, weekend nights are pancake nights."

"Mmmm. Pancakes."

As the room began to disperse, Yang's head swung between Genos and Blake, still withdraw behind her book. "Hey, Chrome, can we talk later?" Genos nodded at her. Sliding over, Yang took a seat next to Yang as Genos stood up to leave the room with the remainder of Team JNPR. "So, what're you reading?

Walking out into the empty hall, Team JNPR tip-toed back to their room to avoid waking anyone. As the remainder of his team wandered away, Jaune heard Penny chatter away at Genos, at how their mission to make Robin sleep was a true success and how much she looked forward to their upcoming "training" session.

Jaune stopped in his tracks.

"Jaune," said Pyrrha.

"Go on ahead," said Jaune. "I'll be there in a minute."

Hesitating but briefly, Pyrrha understood.

"Hey, Genos?" said Jaune. "Are…are you alright."

Halting the middle of the hall, Genos turned around. "Yes. I'm completely functional."

"No. I meant—like—are you okay? How do I ask this without seeming like a…are…are you feeling okay?"

Genos blinked. A flush spread across Jaune's face. He's made an idiot of himself again. He shouldn't have asked that. That was dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Real dumb, Jaune. Truly, dumb. If he didn't think you were socially awkward reject he would now.

Genos blinked again.

Not many people ever asked him how he was feeling. Besides Master Saitama, of course, but even then, that was usually with the accompaniment of food tastings and other extraneous situations. This was something entirely different. Jaune was being…friendly?

"Jaune," Genos said, a sudden _something_ blooming within his mind. "We are going to practice. You are welcome to come along with us if you want."

Now it was Jaune's turn to blink. "I'll go get my stuff. Meet you guys outside?"

Genos nodded.


	32. Interlude: Truth and Doubt

**Interlude:**

 **Truths and Doubt**

Truth was a hell of a thing. It made sure you were on the straight and narrow. Forces you to face fears and truths that most would rather close their eyes too. It even helps prevent you from falling victim to a dubious businessman whose wares consisted of nothing but wasps in a thin blanket marketed as heating blankets.

Truth was also an abusive drunk uncle to Jaune. It had to be considering how often it sought to remind him that he was a subpar warrior at best.

Why, at this very moment, Jaune was recounting his many failures through his entire life as he spent his time soaring high up into the open air.

"Oops," Penny said, cover her mouth in embarrassment. "Sorry Jaune. I seem to have hit you too hard."

"IT'S OKAYYYY!" The ending of Jaune's reply was punctuated by a whump. A cloud of dust rose into the air as Jaune struggled to get to his feet, upper body wobbling as if an invisible monkey was tugging on the top of his head.

Genos raised an eyebrow. As rough as it sounded for him to say, it seemed as if Jaune held none of the training that empowered the other Huntsmen and Huntresses. Okay, that was being nice; the only two skills that Jaune demonstrated during that entire period was the fact that he could swing his sword with decent form, hold a shield, and survive getting launched fifty feet into the air.

"Are you undamaged?" Penny inquired.

"Yeah," Jaune said with a laugh. "My aura is still intact. I'm fine. I blocked it with my head. Hardest part of my body. Let's try again."

"Very well. Deploying attack sequence alpha." Penny's eyes flashed red as her blades danced to her whim, the thin strings linked to her barely visible with the rise of dawn's light. Pressing forward with his shield up, Jaune pushed hard, moving twice as fast as he did during his last charge. A curving sweep came looking to knock his shield off balance as it did last time but Jaune's sword met it with a resounding parry. With a grin, Jaune drew his arm back, about to strike his first-ever blow upon the now defenseless Penny.

Her blades promptly all came back and smacked into the back of his head.

Once again, Jaune was sent fumbling beyond his own control. This time horizontally, forwards across the ring on his face, coming to a groaning stop just a few meters from the edge. His aura went into the red.

"MATCH- WINNER! PENNY!" boomed the sound system through an empty arena. That didn't stop Penny from taking her bows to all the chairs present. And Genos of course.

Meanwhile, Jaune finally found the strength to roll over onto his back. He was heaving for breath, spent and exhausted. He had been beaten without landing a single blow, posing no threat or contest to Penny at any level. Yet, in spite of this crushing loss, there was still a smile on Jaune's face, his weapons were still gripped tightly in his hands.

Jaune Arc may not be much a Huntsman in skill. But there was no denying his spirit. No shame in defeat or self-pity to accompany his failure. He just dusted himself off, made a self-deprecating joke or two, and carried on. More than his aura, it was his persistence that reminded Genos of Mumen Rider.

Mumen. Genos hoped that he was careful while they were gone. His heart was filled with justice, but the sour truth was that his might simply could not deliver upon his will.

Walking over to Jaune while Penny began uploading her combat data, Genos held out a bottle of water to the downed Huntsman.

"Oh. Thanks , Genos. You want to go a round after this."

"Perhaps we should wait for your aura to recover first."

Jaune laughed. "Yeah. That might be a good idea. I was just getting ahead of myself. As usual." He gulped down the bottle without any hesitation, sweat leaving his body as fast as water came into it. Down his chin a few splashes spilled, his hands shaking with fatigue as he drank without pause.

"You're not ashamed?" Genos asked. He cursed himself. He was being too direct. What if Jaune was simply hiding his pain of defeat and now he was pressing on that very wound.

Jaune finished the bottle. "Hmm?"

"Too direct," Genos muttered to himself. "I just…want to know how you felt. About the round, not that you are done—"

"You want to know if losing bothers me?" Jaune was carefree about the question. Without strain.

Genos hesitated. "Yes."

"Well, yeah," Jaune said, chuckling. "Losing _sucks._ "

"Sucks?"

"Yep. I kind of like and hate sparring at the same time. It's like an exercise in honesty, you know." Jaune folded his shield back into its compact form. "In a fight, there is win or lose. That's the way it is with the Grimm. That's the way it is in a duel. If you lose, I think there's no other way around the truth that the other person, in some way, was just better than you, and that always stings."

Yes, it did. Genos knew that sting too. Perhaps not as thoroughly as Jaune did but Genos had faced defeat and certain death far too many times than he was proud to admit. The meteorite, the Deep Sea King, even the Mosquito Woman. All of his failures came back to haunt him in the present, mocking him as an ineffable shame infected his mind. For all his augmentations, firepower, and determination all of it had proven to be worthless in the face of overwhelming force.

Of course, Master Saitama was the ruling force by the end of the day, but there was a fear somewhere, deep down within Genos between the space that was his core and his soul that made him shiver. Without Saitama, where would their world be? He would most certainly be lost. He would have failed the people he had sworn to protect. He would have failed the memory of his family.

"Hey, Genos?" Jaune said. "Have you ever lost?"

It took most of his will not to break eye-contact with Jaune with how much shame it took from him to admit the truth. "Far too many times."

"Really," breathed Jaune, stunned. "But…you're amazing. I saw you fight with both Pyrrha and Yang. They said you were holding back the entire time! There are videos going around the school of you turning an Atlas warship to ash! Like it was nothing."

Genos lowered his head. "Yet its still true that I have been defeated before."

Silence found its way into their conversation as Jaune sat up to bear full witness of Genos's hidden shame.

"Good for you," said Jaune.

" _What?"_

"Good for you," Jaune said. "Good for us that we know this feeling so well. In fact, I would say that losing in the single most important skill that a Huntsman could master. I know this because the single greatest Huntress I've ever known teaches this lesson to me each night, every night. And each and every night I get a bit better. I get a little stronger. I get a little faster. And she gets a little prouder." A smile spread across Jaune's face. "And that makes losing worth it. Losing is momentum. At least, to me it is. See, it might be the truth that I might not be as strong as anyone else here, or as fast, or as skilled, or even as funny as I _wish_ I was. But it's also the truth that with every match I have, with every time I swing, I feel a truth of my own, a truth that shows me where I am lacking, where I need to get stronger, where I am getting stronger. Where I've improved. Do you—do you know what I'm saying?"

It wasn't entire on the nose. Genos had, at best, what could be understood as a peripheral comprehension. There was no way that he would ever know physical strain like Jaune did or feel marked improvements in his strength without upgrades. However, in Jaune, Genos saw some semblance of Saitama. Perhaps an inversed image. One with all the strength in the world, at the price of never having the satisfaction of fighting an equal. Jaune on the other hand could have his fill of struggle forever and never taste the sweetness of victory.

Holding his fists out, Genos shifted both arms into their incinerator forms. Power and heat hot as the surface of a star itself coursed through nanotubes within him, a marvel of technology in their durability and minute scale, still capable of transporting so much power. It was almost a simile to the human body. They breathed. He smote.

"Jaune," Genos asked, uncertainty taking hold of him for a moment too long. "Do I deserve to be powerful. Do I deserve to get stronger if I cannot struggle as you do?"

"I—uh." Jaune didn't quite know how to answer this. Was this his fault? Did he trigger this doubt in Genos with how he answered? Dammit Jaune, you had to Jaune this up to? This was the Jaune move to end Jaune moves. Come on, Arc, fix what you broke. "Genos, your gun-arms…they're cool. Like…really extremely cool. But no one talks about them first when they think of you."

Genos looked confused.

"Genos," Jaune said, still struggling with his words. "I'm not really a philosopher. Or have all the answers. Heck. I have a hard time answering my own questions sometimes. But I know this: your character is what made you…well…you? I mean, you're still here, right? Even if you've lost in the past. You're still here, trying your best to help people. That's what matters. It _has to_ matter. That's what I believe, at least."

What kind of world was this, where even besieged by an endless horde of beasts beyond reason or flesh do heroes still shine regardless? "I think," Genos said, "I still have much to learn about true heroism and struggle." Master Saitama had taught him so much. But there was no way to dissect the true nature of overcoming hardship from one who had long since transcend all physical barriers to his strength. "If I could only grow my strength like master does."

"There's a world of opportunity beyond just the flesh, Genos. So, maybe you've hit the peak of your strength without upgrades. Well, that's okay. Maybe it's time to try a different way? You could try replacing what doesn't work for you and keeping what still does."

"A different way? Replacing?" Genos's eyes widened. Jaune was right. Such as simple statement holding an obvious platitude but truth had a way of burrowing itself into you and piloting you to fight your doubts like a hot-blooded Japanese teenager would a giant robot built from the bones of his long dead ancestors against a horde of space invaders. "You have revealed something to me Jaune."

Jaune blinked. "I did."

"Yes. Something that I must do further research in."

Genos held out his hand to Jaune, resolute, with his mind made. There was wisdom to be exchanged here between them. Both of them were in a position to help the other comprehend that which was beyond their experience. Jaune, with his words on struggle. Genos, with not getting beaten by everything, everyone, everywhere, all the time.

It was a perfect combination.

And best of all, Saitama's voice approved.

 _Ah, Genos…remember, when getting udon to make sure they're spicy...and if you're going to clean the room later remember to do it early because the vacuum cleaner is loud and distracts me from reading Jump….the best kind of trade is free Genos. Free trade is good because you both will think you owe the other a favor. The best friendships are built from people not paying each other. By the way, do you have the rent for this month? I might need it early. There is a sale at the local comic book store that is coming up._

Empowered by induced motivation, Genos extended his hand to Jaune with such gravitas that the wind from his flourish all but slapped the huntsman for him. "Let us join forces then. You can show me the method and path of true struggle. I can help you analyze new strategies to develop your own skills and abilities."

Jaune froze. He looked down at the open hand that Genos had extended to him and back up at the cyborg. Hesitantly, slowly, he reached out and shook it. He wasn't expecting Genos to pull him back up to his feet. Yelping on his way up, Genos helped steady Jaune and made him lift his weapon.

"Let's see." Genos's brows raised. "What do you think about building in a portable laser generator in your sword?"

"Uh…"

"Magnetic gauntlets could stop you from losing your shields. Keeping it up will also prevent you from getting hit the face."

"I—I know that part—"

"We must spar," Genos declared with certainty. With the way he nodded in conviction, it was as if an inner committee of smaller Genos's were all shaking hands with each other and deciding to undertake a risky enterprise. "We must spar. Only directly can I understand and document more details regarding your many potential weaknesses. Penny, please help us restart the ring."

Penny disconnected from her upload with a snapping salute. "Ab-so-lutely!"

"Thank you," Genos said. His core ignited and his body began to hum with power and shine. Rotating his arms freely, Genos finished his diagnostics and noted Jaune's aura meter displayed holographically overhead. Almost entirely refilled; Jaune's regeneration was impressive. He was gaining useful knowledge already. "Jaune. Do you best to dodge my attacks and fight back to the best of your ability. That will allow us to achieve the best results. To encourage you I will engage you with my lightest setting."

Lightest setting. That didn't sound too bad. Jaune raised his shield. He could do this. He could do this.

The timer went off.

The airwaves blasted off Genos as he rocketed up into the air and pointed his incinerators at Jaune, the brightness turning the rest of the room to shadow.

Jaune gulped and braced.


End file.
